A Rose Blooms in Baker Street
by tiaoconnell
Summary: After vanishing without a trace eighteen months earlier, the younger sister of Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes reappears in Britain and is determined to run her life her way, regardless of what either of her brothers have to say about the matter! Includes disciplinary spankings, don't read if that doesn't appeal to you.
1. An Unexpected Return

Chapter 1: An Unexpected Return

John Watson turned the corner of Baker Street, plastic grocery bags in his hands, and came upon a most interesting scene. Almost directly in front of 221 was a young woman set upon by three men who were attempting to force her into a car. She put up one hell of a fight- kicking, scratching, and throwing punches. Though she held her own, John knew instinctively that the three large men would eventually succeed in getting her into the car, something that she was vocally protesting against.

"NO! I will not get in the car! HELP! I'm being kidnapped!" She shouted, continuing to scuffle and throw her fists wildly.

The grocery bags hit the sidewalk as John decided to intervene, rushing into the fray. Though the men were taller and outweighed him to varying degrees, John had the advantage of his military training which enabled him to subdue the would-be kidnappers. Sporting broken noses and bruises, the men finally surrendered and left in their vehicle.

After watching the black car with tinted windows drive away, John turned back to the young woman, his doctoring instinct full on. "Are you alright?" John asked, approaching her slowly. "Did they hurt you during that scuffle? Put up quite a fight, you did." He couldn't keep the grin from his face as thought of her taking on those men by herself. John reached out, took her chin, and tipped her face to the side, frowning at the small cut on her cheek.

"Got backhanded," she said quietly. "But I'm alright. Prolly deserved it, I bit him." She gave John a cheeky little grin. "Thank you for coming to my rescue, I truly appreciate it."

"Not a problem at all. I'm John Watson, by the way. I live right here, 221B, and I'm a doctor. If you'd like, you could come up for cuppa and I'll treat that cut for you," John offered.

She smiled and nodded, her blue-gray eyes lighting up at the offer. "That would be good, thank you," she agreed. "I'm Rose." Rose extended a hand and shook John's before following him into the building.

"Lovely name, it suits you," John decided as they headed up the stairs. "Kitchens right in here, I'll start the kettle and then get my supplies and tend to your cheek. Take a seat at the table. Biscuits?"

"Mm, please," Rose eagerly agreed. "You're too kind. Please don't feel obligated to fuss over me."

"Happy to fuss," John replied, flashing her a smile."Part of my job. Be right back with my kit." Leaving the kettle on the pot to boil, John went up the stairs to his room to retrieve his first aid kit. The kit had expanded significantly since he'd moved in with Sherlock as injuries he'd not thought of treating at home had occurred during their investigations and needed more than basic first aid.

Just as he returned to the kitchen, the door opened below and Sherlock began calling up the stairs as he climbed them. "John! John! Mrs. Hudson tells me there was a fight out front and you were involved, what…" Sherlock stopped speaking as he turned the corner and entered the kitchen, catching sight of the young woman at the table.

"You," Sherlock said quietly, his eyes narrowing. "What areyou doing here?"

Rose's eyebrow quirked as she sized him up. "Nice to see you, too, dear. Have you been well? By the way, My will be here shortly. John sent his men packing when they tried to abduct me."

"Wonderful!" Sherlock shouted. "That's _just _what I needed today, Mycroft." He pointed a finger at Rose and turned to John, "This is my sister."

John, who had just returned with his first aid kid, frowned and felt a bit confused. "I didn't know you had a sister," he pointed out rather needlessly.

"Neither did I, the last eighteen months. Disappeared without a trace," Sherlock retorted angrily. "No texts or emails; no phone calls; no letters; not even a bloody postcard. And Mycroft, even with his vast resources, has been unable to find her. Didn't bother to leave a note when she left either, just disappeared into thin air!"

Rose, at least, had the sense to look ashamed of herself. "My was suffocating me, I couldn't take it any longer Sherlock. I needed to get away and not be found for a while. I _wanted _to contact you, but there was no way to do that without him tracing it and you _know _that."

"I do know that," Sherlock admitted. "But that's not an excuse. I. Was. Worried. Rosenwyn."

"_You _were worried?" John asked. Sherlock rarely worried about anything besides curing his perpetual boredom between cases, let alone people.

"Rose, not Rosenwyn. You know I like it better," Rose countered.

Sherlock nodded. "And I refuse to call you that when I'm angry with you. I could call you by your first and middle name if you'd prefer, Rosenwyn Aramantha." He turned to John after Rose scowled darkly. "Generally calling her that is accompanied by bellowing on my part, and sometimes a chase as well."

John frowned. "A chase as well?"

Rose's face flushed red. "Not in a while. I learned better. Mycroft doesn't pursue, he just waits for me to show up again. Sherlock, however, does pursue and is, unfortunately, quite good at doing so," she grumbled.

"I'm sorry I don't follow," John said, moving to pour the tea. "And angry or not Sherlock, she was a bit roughed up and I want to see to her injuries. Without your angry, glaring presence in the way, preferably. If you want to be angry at someone, first be angry with Mycroft's men, one of which backhanded her." He reached for Rose's chin and tilted her head for Sherlock to see.

Sherlock's eyes narrowed, though whether they did so at Rose or Mycroft's henchmen was unclear, but dutifully he stepped out of John's way.

John opened his first aid kit and took out some gauze and rubbing alcohol to clean the cut on her cheek, tilting her head once more to get a better look at it before doing so. "You know, Rosenwyn is a nice name as well. Just as fitting," he murmured, more to make conversation than anything else. Though John had to admit to himself the odd selection fit right in with the names Sherlock and Mycroft.

"I know, but Rose is special," she replied quietly. "Sherlock called me that, from the day I was born. Mum said he refused to call me Rosenwyn because it was much too big of a name for such a tiny babe as me."

John smiled; imagining Sherlock as a youngster always gave him a bit of a chuckle. He must have been a terror to raise! Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sherlock's lips curl at the corners. "Alright, cheek is taken care of then," he announced, setting aside the alcohol and gauze. "Anything else hurt?"

She nodded. "My ribs are sore, but I don't think they're broken."

"Let me press on them a bit, tell me if it hurts," John instructed. He pressed gently against her right ribs, moving slowly downward and did the same on the left side. Though Rose winced a bit here and there, he detected no breaks. "Just bruised I think. They'll hurt for a bit, so be careful, but you'll be right as rain. Take aspirin for the pain. In fact, I'll get you some now." He gave Rose a smile before leaving the kitchen to retrieve the pills.

"So she's fine?" Sherlock asked when John returned. "No broken bones, no serious injuries?"

John shook his head. "She'll be just fine. Maybe rest a bit for the next few days, those bruised ribs will hurt, but otherwise she's alright."

"Perfect," Sherlock replied, a grim look coming over his face. "You, with me. Now," he told Rose before addressing John once more. "Might I borrow your room momentarily? We need to have a bit of a discussion, Rose and I, and it could get noisy. More privacy up a floor," he explained.

"Noisy?" John repeated. "Uh, yeah, sure."

"No!" Rose said firmly. "No, no, no. We are not having a _discussion _Sherlock. I am nearly twenty years old; there will be no discussions today or any other day." She crossed her arms and gave Sherlock a penetrating look, hoping he would acquiesce.

"I do not recall asking your opinion on the matter, miss," Sherlock replied in a very stern tone, adding a glare for effect. "Do I have to count? Don't make me count Rosenwyn, you know I hate that."

"No! No counting, no discussions, nothing Sherlock. I won't allow it!"

As brother and sister argued, John stood off to the side in the kitchen feeling rather confused. He was quite sure something was going on that he wasn't fully aware of and was uncertain what that might be.

"Fine, no counting," Sherlock agreed with a nod. In one swift movement, he closed the space between them, lifted Rose from the chair and put her over his shoulder. "See? I didn't count." His tone was smug and had Rose been able to see his face, she would have found a smug look there as well.

"Put me down Sherlock! Immediately!" Rose ordered, outraged. Her directions were completely ignored as Sherlock easily carried her from the kitchen and up the stairs to John's room, shutting the door firmly behind him.

"You can't spank me, I'm nineteen Sherlock! That's completely unreasonable," she protested when Sherlock finally put her back on her feet.

"I'm unreasonable? You go missing for eighteen months, might have been dead for all I know, and expect me to _not _be angry when you suddenly show up again?" Sherlock questioned, hands on his hips. "Your choice, Rosenwyn, left much to be desired and you cannot possibly tell me that you didn't expect to get spanked when you came here today!"

Rose began shuffling her feet a bit, clearly uncomfortable under his scrutiny, and decided studying the carpet was much more interesting than looking at her angry brother. She couldn't truthfully say that she hadn't expected this reaction, but Rose had really been hoping to be proven wrong. Someday her brothers were going to need to acknowledge the fact that she was a woman and stop hovering over her protectively- and that included spankings.

The room was silent for a few uncomfortable moments as Sherlock studied his sister. Fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, very much like the last time he'd spanked her. Rose's behavior never really changed over the years, no matter how many times he'd disciplined her. It had been three years since that had last occurred, though Sherlock knew Mycroft had taken her in hand at least a few times since then.

"Tell me, when was the last time you and I were having this type of conversation," Sherlock directed. "Do you recall what you'd done?"

There was a slight pause as Rose tried to think back that far and when she recalled that spanking, she left out a groan.

"Ah, you _do _remember. Very good," Sherlock murmured, sounding far too pleased. It didn't bode well for Rose and she knew it! "Tell me."

"I was sixteen and I'd stayed out all night, with friends, after promising to be back at home by curfew. I even managed to avoid the police Mycroft sent to find me," Rose recalled in a meek tone. "You found me though. That didn't end well for me."

"Precisely. And I dislike repeat offenses Rose," he warned. "Not only did you repeat the disappearing act, you stretched it out for months and months, leaving no real trace of whether or not you were alive. That, Rosenwyn, is completely unacceptable, and you are going to be soundly spanked for it."

Sherlock turned away from her and entered John's bathroom to retrieve his hairbrush. It was large, oval shaped and made of wood; he was sure it would pack a good sting. Holding it in his hand he returned to the bedroom and took a seat on the bed. "Come here, Rosenwyn, it's time for our discussion."

"You know, I truly hate that phrase, because there's no actual talking that takes place," Rose mumbled, even as she obeyed and went to Sherlock's side. When his eyebrows went up, she sighed and pushed her leggings down to her knees before bending over his lap.

"Torso all the way on the bed," Sherlock instructed. "Try to make it as comfortable as you can for your ribs." Rather than waiting for Rose to adjust herself, he merely moved her to his satisfaction and proceeded to pull her panties down to her knees, baring her bottom for the hairbrush.

"Do you _have _to do that? Can't I keep those up?" Rose pleaded. She received no response from Sherlock, other than the first smack of the hairbrush. Apparently, he did have to. She yelped in response to the stinging spank and reached for one of John's bed pillows, promptly hugging it tightly as she fought to take her spanking quietly. There was no reason to alert everyone in Baker Street of the fact she was getting smacked!

Her fight to stay quiet quickly proved to be a losing battle and Rose let out a series of "Ouch! Ow! OW!" in response to some particularly sharp swats and began pleading after receiving the first dozen. "Sherlock please! Ow! Please, I'm sorry!"

"Please what? Please spank you properly in proportion to disappearing for over a year? I most certainly can and will do that," Sherlock responded firmly. He wasn't about to let her pleas get to him this early on.

Before long, Rose was in tears, squirming over his lap in an effort to remove her bottom from the line of fire, letting out yelps every few smacks as Sherlock brought the hairbrush down over and over again. He peppered each cheek thoroughly with the brush before moving to the other, and made certain her sit spots, where she would feel it most, were given equal attention. After all, if he was going to give a spanking, he might as well do a proper job of it!

Meanwhile, John couldn't help but wonder what Sherlock and his sister were doing in his room. He could hear a bit of raised voices floating down the stairs, which wasn't surprising. He and Harry had had some very vocal rows over the years, too.

The sound of raised voices ended as John drank his tea and worked on putting away the groceries he'd purchased. He didn't realize it at first, but as a few moments ticked by, John suddenly stopped and frowned. New noises were coming from his bedroom that sounded like loud whacks followed by a quieter sound that he couldn't identify. A moment later, it finally dawned on him- there was definitely some sort of smacking noise and the sounds of crying out were floating down the stairs. A wail followed shortly thereafter and John felt very uneasy about it.

Determined to make certain everyone was still alright, John hurried up the stairs, and the noises grew louder the closer he came to the door. When he opened it, John stopped in his tracks, jaw dropping. There was Sherlock, sitting on his bed, with Rose over his lap, thorough paddling her bottom with John's own hairbrush. "Oh, my god," he murmured.

"Problem?" Sherlock asked, pausing to address his flatmate. "We'll be done shortly."

Had Rose's bottom not been on fire, she would have been completely mortified by the fact that John had opened the door and seen her bare bottom being spanked. As it was, she had more important things to worry about, like squirming and crying, and paid no attention to John whatsoever.

"Sherlock!" John shouted. "What… What are you _doing_? You're going to hurt her, especially with those bruised ribs. And she's not a child," he felt compelled to point out.

"I'm well aware of her age, John," Sherlock replied in a bored tone. "And I don't care what age she is. Putting her life in danger is not something I'm willing to tolerate and she knows that. Rose knew exactly what was going to happen when she showed up here today."

"Putting her life in danger? You're hardly one to talk," John pointed out, with a shake of his head. He very clearly remembered all the times Sherlock had behaved recklessly in pursuit of a case or during an experiment, in the short time they'd lived together. He could only begin to imagine the dangerous scenarios he wasn't aware of!

"Well, we aren't talking about me, are we John? We're talking about Rose, who I am sure would wish you anywhere but here if she weren't so concerned about how much her bum hurt. If you please," Sherlock waved in the direction of the door. "Despite her caterwauling, I'm not actually injuring her."

John stared at Sherlock for a moment longer before throwing his hands in the air and heading back downstairs. Who was he to get involved in a brother and sister issue?

As soon as he left, Sherlock resumed the spanking, lighting up Rose's sit spots to a bright red hue that matched her bottom. With that accomplished, another dozen smacks, harder than the others had been, rained down before Sherlock ended the punishment and tossed the hairbrush in the direction of the bathroom.

With a gentleness that would have surprised anyone who knew him, Sherlock eased Rose's clothing back up over her bottom. Upon restoring her modesty, he helped Rose to her feet before wrapping his arms around her and pulling her onto his lap, adjusting her position to accommodate her sore bottom. "Shhh, all done Rosie," Sherlock murmured, holding her tight. "There, there. It's alright now, shhh."

Rose pressed her face against his chest and cried out her tears, one hand clutching his shirt; Sherlock knew that meant she was really hurting and his heart twisted painfully. It had been a very long time since Rose had clung to him that way. He rested his chin on her head, continuing to murmur soothingly to her. At times like this, it was hard to remember that Rose was in fact almost twenty. She had always been rather petite and even now, when it was unlikely she would grow any taller, stood at only 5'2" as compared to his height of 6 feet. She still fit relatively easily in his arms, and unfortunately for her, over his lap.

Though it took several tearful minutes for Rose to be comforted enough to calm down, there was no complaint to be heard from Sherlock, despite the growing wet spot on his shirt from her tears. When it came to her, Sherlock was surprisingly affectionate and more human than many would believe him capable of. Since the day Rose was born, they'd been close and he had always taken his duties as her older brother very seriously. That had not stopped them, however, from being occasional partners in crime, namely crimes against Mycroft, and many of Sherlock's experiments as a teenager had included Rose when he was certain she wouldn't be hurt.

"I'm sorry," Rose whispered after her tears had begun to subside. "I'm not sorry I escaped Mycroft's suffocating attention, but I _am _sorry I worried you Sherlock. And that I worried him, too." Though she and Mycroft had very different views on what she should do with her life, which had prompted her disappearance, she did in fact love her eldest brother too and knew he'd been concerned.

"I'm not asking you to be sorry that you escaped Mycroft," Sherlock assured her. "I'm asking you to never disappear that way again. I understand Mycroft is very overbearing and how unpleasant that can be, but you cannot just wander off without a word to anyone at all.

"And just so you're aware, I used the hairbrush the entire time because this was the second time you have vanished and caused me to worry," Sherlock told her. "You know I hate repeated offenses; one time should really be sufficient to learn your lesson. If this should happen again, I'll find something else to use and you won't like it a bit. Am I clear?" He glanced down at Rose with an expectant look on his face.

Rose hurriedly nodded. "Yes, quite clear. Should have remembered that," she admitted. "But honestly Sherlock, I am sorry that I worried you so much, and I meant what I said before. I would have reached out, but then Mycroft would have tracked me down. You know there's very little that goes on in Britain that he isn't aware of."

"I do know," Sherlock admitted. "And I accept your apology. Though you should say you're sorry to Mycroft as well." He paused briefly and a smile spread across his face. "Oh, you are clever, my girl. Very, very clever," he praised. "You knew exactly what Mycroft was going to do when he got a hold of you and that's why you came here first." It wasn't a question, but rather a statement of fact. "Very clever indeed, Rose."

She blushed bright red and nodded. "Well, to be honest, I've always preferred you for… this."

"Can't bring yourself to say it, can you? The word is 'spanking,'" Sherlock teased. "The only real question is why. Six of the best would have been over much faster, and with a similar level of pain as the hairbrush. So aside from the obvious, knowing you hate the cane as does any sane person, why me?"

"You can't deduce it all on your own?" She teased before turning serious. "Because of this. You're gentle after. That means a lot to me."

Warmth spread through Sherlock's heart at her words. "That's how it should be done," he said firmly.

"Mycroft doesn't, and hasn't in a long while in fact, since I started getting older. Not that I don't think he cares, mind you, but I need comfort afterwards. A very quick hug and pat on the cheek isn't enough when I'm crying my eyes out," Rose explained. "And I hate the cane and that tends to be Mycroft's go-to when I've been particularly out of line."

"I'll never stop cuddling you after," Sherlock promised very solemnly. The word 'cuddle' sounded strange coming out of his mouth, but that's precisely what he was doing just then: practically cradling her in his arms as she rested against his chest, while he attempted to soothe the tears he'd caused. "And not just after a spanking either."

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, brushing her dark curly hair, so much like his own, away from her face. "You've always craved cuddles, to almost an alarming rate when you were small," he murmured. "There were days when it felt like I was constantly holding you, or you were attached to me, arms around my leg, looking up at me with those wide eyes."

"And to your credit, more often than not, you scooped me up for one, even while letting out those long-suffering sighs you're so fond of," Rose said, giving him a smile. "I remember all those times; they're locked away in my mind palace." She loved teasing Sherlock and he made it all too easy for her sometimes.

"As fun as this reminiscing is, I'm quite sure Mycroft has arrived by now and is waiting for you. I think John is as well, he seemed quite concerned when he came up here mid-spanking," Sherlock told her.

"Oh, my god, I was hoping that wasn't real," Rose moaned as she stood up from his lap. "How utterly humiliating."

"How very like the good doctor," Sherlock countered. "Always concerned about his patients. I think the noise alarmed him, to be honest. You were quite loud; caterwauling in fact."

Rolling her eyes, the best response Rose cared to put together at that moment was to stick her tongue out at him before exiting John's room. "Time to face the music," she said aloud and started down the stairs.

Rose descended the stairs with Sherlock right behind her and let out a sigh of relief when Mycroft was nowhere in sight. John, however, was sitting in his chair and her face went bright red when they made eye contact.

"Uh, I'm sorry Rose. For… interrupting," John said quietly. "It wasn't my intention to embarrass you, I was just slightly alarmed by all the noise. It didn't occur to me that the noises corresponded to…"

"John, are you shy about that word as well?" Sherlock teased. "Spanking. The noise corresponded to a spanking."

John coughed a bit and nodded. "Yes, that. Right," he muttered. "But your ribs aren't hurting any worse are they?" This was directed at Rose, who was trying desperately to avoid looking at him.

"No, Sherlock was careful, he always is," she hurried to assure him. "I'd like some tea, may I make some?"

"I'll start the kettle," Sherlock offered, heading into the kitchen. "Make yourself comfortable somewhere. I'm more than a little surprised that Mycroft isn't already…" The sound of the main door opening downstairs ended that train of thought. "Spoke too soon. Hello Mycroft."

The eldest Holmes ignored his brother entirely and went straight to where Rose stood near the island in the kitchen. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he gave Rose a good shake and bellowed, "WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?! I have been worried _sick _about you!" Mycroft added another shake before pulling her into a tight hug. It was an uncharacteristic show of affection that took even Sherlock by surprise.

"Hello," Rose replied in a soft, anxious tone. She was uncertain what to make of the spontaneous hug, but she didn't have to wonder for long. Mycroft ended the hug, used one hand to pull her to the side and the other landed several hearty smacks to her bottom, making Rose yelp and begin to cry once more.

"You are so absolutely outrageous, I can hardly fathom it!" he thundered, paying no attention to her tears. "Gallivanting around who knows where doing God only knows what! Between you and Sherlock I am going to die an early death, I swear it! And you are going to tell me about all your fake passports or whatever it is you used to get around without being found!"

As Mycroft raised his hand to continue spanking her, Sherlock's voice rang out like a firecracker. "MYCROFT!" In the few seconds that it took for Mycroft to pause and look over at Sherlock, the younger Holmes brother had closed the distance between them and stood between Rose and Mycroft.

"It has been taken care of," he said in a firm tone. "That is _enough_. I have handled it sufficiently, your input is unnecessary."

An eyebrow rose as Mycroft turned to look at Rose, who was crying quite hard, harder than she should have been had she not already been spanked. He immediately released her and watched as Rose brushed the tears from her face, finally pulling out a handkerchief for her. "We _are _going to have a long talk, you and I. This will not happen again, ever, young lady."

"I'm not talking to you about a thing if you send anyone else to abduct me off the street," Rose shot back. "That was uncalled for, I would have come to find you soon enough!"

"She's right, no more of your men and mysterious black vehicles," Sherlock said firmly. "They hurt her, Mycroft." He cupped Rose's chin and tipped her head, showing Mycroft the cut on her cheek.

"And her ribs, don't forget they bruised her ribs," John added, reminding them all he was there watching this family spectacle. "She could have seriously been hurt Mycroft. Though I'm quite sure I made the unacceptability of their actions clear earlier. You don't man-handle ladies, not even when the lady is your sister."

Rose attempted to stifle a laugh and failed miserably. "Not even when the lady is your sister, John? Really?" She gave in to the laughter, the melodic sound of it breaking the tension that had been rising in the kitchen, and turned her attention to the now-boiling kettle.

"I apologize that you were injured, Rose. That certainly wasn't my intent, but I didn't exactly have good reason to trust you, given the fact that you've been gone for eighteen months," Mycroft stated firmly. "We do need to talk and reestablish some rules and parameters and I do mean it Rose, this will not happen ever again. You are not allowed to go off whenever you please. Now, my car is waiting outside and I will take you home before returning to the office."

"No, I don't think so," she decided, blowing on her tea before sipping at it. "I don't want to go home Mycroft. I'm not a little girl and I don't want to live at home anymore, nor do I want you to make decisions about my future without even discussing them with me. You know that is precisely what will happen if I go home today and I don't want to be suffocated again."

Mycroft's eyebrows rose. "So, you won't come home then, young lady? Where exactly do you believe you'll be staying then, Rose?"

"She can stay here, for a few days. We have a couch," Sherlock interjected. He took considerable pleasure from the look of annoyance that crossed his brother's face at his offer.

"Sherlock, really!" John scolded. "She's your sister."

Sherlock looked over at Rose, amusement twinkling in his eyes. "Not good?"

"A bit not good," Rose replied, chuckling.

"Alright, alright, you insufferable brat. I'll give you my bed, in exchange for a hot breakfast. This isn't a boarding house after all," Sherlock teased.

"I want to talk to you Rose. If not today, then tomorrow. We have a _lot _to talk about," Mycroft said.

"I'll send her 'round tomorrow. No cars," Sherlock stated firmly. "In fact, she'll be escorted. I'm busy, but John should be available." He looked out of the kitchen towards his flatmate. "Care to escort my sister to Mycroft's office tomorrow for a chat?"

John nodded his agreement. "If that's what it takes to keep her from being abducted, I'd be happy to."

Sherlock smiled. "Then it's settled! Goodbye Mycroft."

With a sigh, Mycroft decided to take his leave, having been summarily dismissed by Sherlock. "Rosenwyn, look at me," he ordered. When he had her attention, he continued. "Please behave, alright? And Sherlock, make sure she does!"

Rose nodded her agreement then watched him go back down the stairs to exit the building. "Thank you for letting me stay, Sherlock. You too, John." She flashed the ex-soldier a smile, receiving one in return.

"I was serious when I said for a few days. I am not extending an invitation for you to become a permanent fixture of our flat," Sherlock warned her. "However, until suitable arrangements can be made with Mycroft, you're welcome to stay. Even though John is forcing me to surrender my bed to you."

She laughed once more, shaking her head. "Don't worry, I've already got a plan in mind. Wouldn't have come back without one."


	2. Failure to Communicate

Chapter 2: Failure to Communicate

Following the afternoon's excitement, the rest of the day passed rather peacefully. Sherlock and Rose caught up with one another, John ordered takeaway, and each pursued their own activity that evening. Rose curled up with a book in John's arm chair, Sherlock turned his attention to yet another experiment in the kitchen and John worked on a blog entry. The flat was quiet, yet buzzed, in a way, with the sounds of domesticity. John was a bit surprised to realize that Sherlock looked much more relaxed than he had in a long time.

The quiet was broken by a soft thud that startled both men, who discovered that Rose was fast asleep and the book she'd been reading had fallen out of her hands onto the floor.

"Keep an eye on her, will you?" Sherlock asked.

John nodded, feeling quite capable of watching the sleeping young woman. "Are you going out?"

"I'm going to rummage through her bag. I'd like to make certain she doesn't run off again," Sherlock explained. Without waiting for John's reply, Sherlock entered his bedroom and located the bag Rose had arrived with. Opening the large duffle bag, he turned it upside down and dumped its contents on the bed.

Clothing was tossed off to the side as unimportant; the pink ipod drew a chuckle from the detective. He couldn't help but think that if Mycroft had put some sort of tracking device in her ipod, this whole thing would have been done a long time back. Still, that was unimportant and the music player joined the pile of clothing. The last items from the bag were two books, novels in fact, and Sherlock was about to toss them aside when he realized there was something inside one of the books.

"Fake book, nicely done," he murmured, despite there being no one to hear him. Opening the book, he discovered it had been partly hollowed out and nestled inside were not one but _three _British passports. Shaking his head, Sherlock put all the other items back inside her bag and returned to the sitting room, tossing the passports at John without a word.

Sherlock crossed the room and rubbed his sleeping sister's shoulder. "Rose, time for bed," he murmured. "Can you get up and walk?" When he received no response, other than the continued breathing pattern of someone fast asleep, Sherlock rolled his eyes and carefully picked her up to carry her into his bedroom. He lovingly tucked her into his bed and then stood there in the dark, watching her. A part of him almost couldn't believe she was there, returned from her escapades unhurt and, hopefully, a bit more mature then when she'd left. Another part of him wondered if she'd be there still when he woke up the next morning. Unaware of the time passing, Sherlock sat beside her on the bed and continued to watch her sleep.

When Sherlock didn't return after ten minutes, John got up from the couch to make sure everything was alright. Just as he poked his head inside Sherlock's bedroom, he saw the detective reach out and stroke Rose's curly hair, brushing it out of her face before leaning over to kiss her forehead. Turning away, John returned to the sitting room and picked up the passports Sherlock had tossed him.

Sherlock came out of the bedroom a moment later, shutting the door quietly behind him. "Can you even believe it?" he asked, indicating the passports. "There's got to be a fantastic story about how she managed to get those other two without Mycroft being alerted. I'm sure he put some sort of alert out to all the embassies to keep watch for her. Though without knowing what name, or names, to search for, that was doomed to failure."

Taking the passports back from John, he opened the first one and, discovering it was the legitimate one, tossed it back on the couch. The second one drew a chuckle from the detective when he spotted the name: Nora Charles. "I told Mycroft she'd pick names from her favorite films, it was merely a process of narrowing down which were her very favorites," he murmured, showing John.

John peered at the passport. "I think this faked, it doesn't look quite right," he commented. "And what movie is Nora Charles from?"

"Of course it's fake John. A very, very good fake, but the text is just slightly blurred," Sherlock pointed out. "And the name is from an old American film, The Thin Man." Opening the second one produced another smile. "And Tracy Samantha Lord, from The Philadelphia Story. She's clever; Mycroft never took my suggestions for searching character names seriously. I'm sure she counted on that, and clearly, I was right.

"Rose studied cinema at university," he enlightened John. "And literature. Mycroft refused to pay for her to major in something that amounted to, in his opinion, little more than watching films, but agreed to let her major in it so long as she studied something else as well, so literature it was. Graduated with honors."

John frowned. "She's not yet twenty and she's got an undergraduate degree? How is that possible?"

"Rose skipped some years of grade school and began attending university at fourteen, graduated at seventeen," Sherlock replied. There was no mistaking the note of pride in his voice as he spoke; his little sister, a university graduate at seventeen. "She'd just finished her first semester of law school when she disappeared. I told Mycroft forcing her to go would be a mistake."

John couldn't help but be impressed at what Rose had already achieved so early in her life. He'd been at university for ages becoming a doctor. "What do you intend to do with the passports?" John wondered. "Not give them back to her, surely."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "That should be abundantly obvious John. If I give them back to her, she can leave again. Rose won't get far without a passport and I doubt she has enough money to purchase anymore fakes; those aren't cheap. I'll hide them away. That way Mycroft and I stand a chance of keeping her in the country."

John nodded. "Well, good luck with that then. I'm going to head to bed, good night."

"Good night John," Sherlock responded. Before going to sleep himself, he took a picture of the passports with his phone and sent it in a text to Mycroft: 'Will put them in a safe place. SH.' 

The following morning, Rose awoke just past seven. When she opened her eyes, she was filled with panic for a few moments, not knowing where she was. Then it all came back and, knowing she was in Sherlock's room, left out a sigh of relief.

Uncertain of who was up and who wasn't Rose took Sherlock's dressing robe off the hook on the back of the door and put it on over her pajamas and then helped herself to his slippers as well. They were quite big on her little feet, so she abandoned that plan and dug for her own in her bag, putting them on before venturing out of the bedroom.

The flat was eerily quiet, indicating both men were still asleep. Sherlock, sprawled on the couch with a blanket and pillow clearly was, and since no sound was coming from the upstairs bedroom, John had to be sleeping as well. Seeing no need to wake them just yet, Rose headed into the kitchen, pushed aside Sherlock's microscope and various unidentified items from the island, and started on breakfast. Soon bacon was sizzling, eggs were scrambling, and hash browns were browning.

"Sherlock," Rose called from the kitchen. "Sherlock, wake up, there's food."

The man on the couch didn't stir and Rose wasn't in a position where she could leave the food long enough to go rouse him from sleep. With a shrug, she took off one of her slippers and threw it at him, giggling with satisfaction when it smacked his face and Sherlock startled awake.

"Good morning!" Rose called out in a sing-song voice. "Food is just about ready!"

Sherlock scowled at her from the couch and picked up her slipper. "You threw your slipper at me!" he exclaimed. "What was that for?"

"You wouldn't wake up," she answered easily.

"I'll wake _you _up in a minute," he grumbled. Holding the slipper in his hand, Sherlock entered the kitchen and gave her a good smack across the bottom with it.

Rose yelped in response. "Ow! That _hurt_!"

"See? It's not nice to throw slippers at people, they might smack you with them in return," he commented glibly, holding the offending slipper out for her to take.

Rose accepted it and placed it back on her foot. "Duly noted," she muttered. "Spoil sport."

"Why are you wearing my dressing robe, by the way? What if I needed it?" Sherlock teased.

"Because I'm in my pajamas underneath and I didn't want to embarrass John if he was awake," Rose explained patiently. "And you should go wake him up, breakfast is ready to be served. After we're done, I'm going to have a chat with Mrs. Hudson."

A few hours later, John's mobile went off, alerting him to a text. 'Bring her now. MH.' "Is your sister still with Mrs. Hudson? Mycroft wants to see her now. Say, why aren't you taking her? You don't look particularly busy," John said with a chuckle.

"Because I know precisely how this will turn out. Mycroft and I will end up fighting about how to parent her and when you fight in front of a child, that undermines your authority with said child," Sherlock answered without looked up from his microscope. "He and I rarely agree on anything, other than the fact that we like to know where Rose is and that she is safe."

John nodded, having assumed as much. "See you in a while then." He headed downstairs to collect Rose from Mrs. Hudson. "Ready?" he asked as they climbed into a cab.

"About as ready as I'll ever be," Rose replied, as she slunk down in the seat. She pulled her newsboy cap down over her eyes.

"Maybe Mycroft will surprise you," John told her, sounding quite optimistic.

Rose pushed her cap back up to look at John. "I hope you're right. I really hope I proved that I can take care of myself. I don't need to be watched over and cosseted and protected. I'm ready to begin my life and do what I love."

"Which is?"

"Dance. I'm a dancer and I'd like to go professional. Tried law school and it just wasn't me. Boring, boring, boring, no life to it at all. Dancing is so amazing and freeing and I've been told I have a good potential of going professional, which is why I kept dancing at little no name studios wherever I went while I was off adventuring," Rose explained.

A few minutes later they arrived at Mycroft's office building and were escorted to his office by a security official. "Ah, you're still in the country," Mycroft quipped when they entered. "John, if you would be so good as to wait outside while I conference with my sister privately."

"Right," John agreed. He gave Rose an encouraging smile before exiting and closing the door behind him. Taking advantage of some bench seating in the hallway, John sat down to wait for them to finish. For a while, he was sure it was going well, but eventually he heard raised voices, and someone's hand slam on a desk top…

"So, I talked to Mrs. Hudson and 221C is available for rent and she said she'd happily rent it to me. I'd like to live close to both you and Sherlock, but have some independence," Rose explained. "I thought that might be a good solution, since I don't want to move back home. Nothing personal, but I've been on my own for a while now and it would be weird to live at home and have all those rules again."

Mycroft sighed as he considered the issue. There were certainly worse places for her to live, and at least Sherlock would be nearby to keep an eye on her. In fact, he'd pay Sherlock and John a hefty sum to do just that! "Alright, I'll agree to you taking the apartment Mrs. Hudson has to offer," he decided.

Rose breathed a sigh of relief and leaned back in her chair. She accepted the cup of tea Mycroft offered her and sipped it for a few moments before setting it down and moving on to the next part of her plan. "I've already had a job offer, at the dance studio I used to attend," she explained. "They're very eager to have me back teaching the little ones their ballet again, and are more than willing to work around any professional engagements. They'll even help me find an agent, who will help me get into the professional world. I'm really very excited about it." For as long as she could remember, she'd loved to dance more than anything else in life.

"Rosenwyn, how many times do we have to go over this?" Mycroft asked, immediately sounding frustrated. "If you want to work there, fine, I don't care. But dancing is a hobby, it is not a career. What will you do if you become injured? Or you don't cut it professionally? What will you have to fall back on?" He rubbed his forehead, trying to ease the oncoming headache.

"Thank you for your faith in me," Rose grumbled. "Look, I have my undergraduate degree. If something happens I can get a teaching license and work in a school, or I could go back to school and pursue a graduate degree. I think there are a lot of options for me if this doesn't work out. Teaching dance is good money and an agent would help my career so much. I wouldn't even have to pay for the agent!"

Mycroft shook his head. "Absolutely out of the question. Dancing is not a career. You need to go back to law school or pursue medicine, or do something worthwhile. I never intended for all these dance lessons you took as a child to become an obsession for you. You _must _find something else, particularly if you expect me to support your endeavors."

"WHY?!" Rose exclaimed, all her frustration coming out in her sharp tone. She couldn't believe they were arguing about this yet again! "Mycroft, look. I'm not really asking for permission here, I'm telling. I'm telling you that I tried to do what you wanted and was completely miserable. Now it's time for me to do what I want and frankly, I don't care whether or not you approve of it."

Mycroft stared her down from across his desk, a dark, angry look on his face. "Well that's a fine way to speak to me!" He slammed his hand on the desk for emphasis. "I didn't raise you to talk to me in that fashion. You're a _child _and whether or not you want my permission, you'd best have it miss, or life will be very difficult for you."

"I didn't ask you to do that though!" Rose told him. "I didn't ask you to raise me and…"

"And I most certainly didn't ask for you to be born and become my responsibility, did I?!" Mycroft shouted at her. The moment the words left his mouth he regretted them. Rose visibly deflated before his eyes, going quite still, looking at the floor rather than at him. His words had hurt her, deeply.

"Rose, I'm…" Before Mycroft could get out an apology, Rose got up from her chair, grabbed the tea pot on his desk and threw it at his head. In an effort to get out of the way, Mycroft fell out of his chair with an undignified sort of squeak and the tea pot hit the wall behind him, showering his head with tea and broken china pieces.

Without another word, Rose turned and left the office, slamming the door behind her, and walked straight into John.

"What was that crash, what happened?" John demanded with a frown. "Is Mycroft injured?"

"If he is, I don't care," Rose ground out. "Let me alone." She pushed him away from her, intent on leaving the building as quickly as possible.

John debated internally for a few seconds on what to do: see to Mycroft, or go after Rose. Ultimately he decided to go after Rose, and chased her down the hallway and out of the building, spotting her on the sidewalk as she waved frantically for a cab. When she saw him coming towards her, Rose turned to run and was unpleasantly surprised to find that John was not only a good runner, but did in fact catch up with her rather easily, grabbing hold of her arm.

"Rose, you can't just go off again. Sherlock will murder us both if you do. What happened? Why are you so upset?" John asked. He was truly concerned about her and fearful that she'd disappear all over again. The flush of her cheeks and the tears shining in her eyes, which she tried desperately to keep from letting fall, alerted him to the fact that she was very, very upset indeed.

"Let. Go. Of. Me." Rose ground out, trying to pull her arm away. "I mean it John, let go!"

"Not a chance," John said sternly. "Stop trying to get away from me! We'll get a cab and go… somewhere. Anywhere you'd like, but I can't let you run."

Rather than respond verbally, Rose attempted to push him away from her, shoving with all her might. She nearly succeeded in toppling John over because she'd taken him by surprise. "Hey now," John said sternly, grabbing hold of her other arm. "Look at me, young lady. I just want to get you somewhere safely, I'm not trying to hurt you and there is no reason to start shoving me around. I'm on your side!" At least he thought he was, but it was hard to know for sure without understanding what happened in Mycroft's office.

She responded by kicking him in the shin and trying to pull away once more. "THAT," John shouted. "IS ENOUGH!" Pulling her closer to him, he landed a mighty smack to her bottom, not stopping to think about whether or not he had a right to do so. "I am trying to be your friend here and do _not _deserve to be pushed, kicked, or anything else you feel like doing amid your tantrum! Are we clear?"

"How dare you?!" Rose shouted back, slapping him hard across the face. Her eyes suddenly went wide, suddenly realizing how terribly out of line that was. "John, I…"

Before she could get another word out, John began dragging her towards a side street, away from the small crowd that had begun to gather around them. As soon as he had achieved a bit more privacy, he yanked on her arm, tucked her under his, and smacked her bottom hard several times.

"You can't! Don't! Owwww!" Rose yelped. She struggled to get away, but John had her locked tightly against his side and she had no choice but to stay right where she was. She fought the urge to cry out and draw attention to what was happening. The tears began to fall in fast succession and she stopped squirming, not bothering to fight him anymore.

The instant she settled down, John stopped smacking her bum and let her up, though he kept a hand on each shoulder. "Are you done?" he asked sternly. "Done with your tantrum now?" His heart twisted painfully when he saw the tears streaking down her cheeks, but had a feeling the brief smacking alone wasn't the only cause for them. Still, he would remain stern until she got herself under control.

Rose nodded, indicating her anger had abated. She opened her mouth to verbally confirm it, but her breath hitched as she struggled to keep from all-out crying.

"Alright," John replied with a nod. "Good to hear." He reached out and gently brushed the tears from her cheeks with the pad of his thumb. "You don't have to tell me what happened with Mycroft, in fact you don't have to tell me anything at all," he admitted. "And I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds just now but you were _really _out of line. That being said… is there somewhere you want to go? Something you want to do?"

For a moment Rose just stared at him, looking so lost and John instinctively pulled her into a hug. He felt her hesitate for a moment, before putting her arms around him and pressing her face into his shoulder.

"No more tears," he murmured in a gentle tone. "Deep breaths, you'll be alright. That's a good girl," he praised when Rose did as he asked. It amazed him that this young woman he held in his arms was the same one who had survived in the world all on her own for over a year. Then again, everyone had their breaking point, and if the raised voices he'd heard were any indication, things had gone very badly in Mycroft's office.

"Better?" he asked after a few moments. "How does coffee sound? There's a great coffee shop just a couple blocks away that makes the best lattes anywhere."

She looked up at him, giving him a small smile as she pushed her curls away from her face. "That sounds good, actually. And John? I'm really sorry. I shouldn't have done any of that, especially not slap you. I was really, really angry, and hurting, and you had nothing to do with that. I'm so sorry."

"It's alright, I won't hold it against you," John told her with a smile. "So, may I escort you to the coffee shop?" He held his arm out for her to take, hoping Rose wouldn't use this as an opportunity to run away from him. Much to his relief, she slipped her arm through his and they started off towards the coffee shop. "That's a good girl," he said quietly, patting her hand. "Just remember I'm not your enemy in any of this family business, yeah?"

"I will," Rose assured him. "I promise. Speaking of family, what are we going to tell my brother? Sherlock, I mean, about… uh, that bit just now?"

John began to blush and coughed uncomfortably, uncertain how Sherlock would feel about him taking it upon himself to spank Rose. "Well… That is a good question; a very good question indeed..."


	3. Melancholy Baby

'Is Rose with you? M'

'No, I thought she was visiting you. SH'

'She left. Things did not go well. M'

'Why does that not surprise me? SH'

'She threw a tea pot at my head, had to have stitches. M'

'You probably deserved that. I'm at a crime scene, try John. SH'

John's mobile went off several times in a row as he and Rose stood in line at the coffee shop. "They're trying to figure out if I'm with you or wandering around," she murmured. "You should respond, before Mycroft sends police."

'Relax, she's with me. Things went poorly with Mycroft, she's upset. Having coffee,' John texted Sherlock. To Mycroft he sent, 'Yes, she is with me and upset. I'm not bringing her back. Sort it out on your own.' He wasn't Rose's keeper after all, and if she didn't want to go back to Mycroft's office, there was no reason why he should make her.

"John, I just realized I don't have any money. I didn't think to bring some, since I was only going to see Mycroft," Rose whispered, prompting John to turn his attention from his mobile back to her.

"Don't worry about it, my treat," he answered easily. Ordering a coffee for himself and a chai latte for Rose, he paid for and collected the drinks, then directed Rose to a table near the large front windows of the store.

"You know," John said quietly as they sat down. "I'm a rather good listener. If you want to talk, that is. Don't feel like you have to."

Rose smiled at his offer and took a sip of her latte before responding. "Thanks, I appreciate that."

"Things are rather complicated between you and your brothers aren't they?" John asked.

She nodded. "_Very _complicated. There's a considerable age gap between us, with Mycroft being a whole twenty-two years older than I am. I'm quite sure I wasn't planned by my parents," Rose admitted. "Mum had been advised not to have any more children after Sherlock because pregnancies were so difficult for her. She was rather fragile. Father was never really interested in any of us, I've been told, and in any case, he died when I was two. Since Mum's health was poor, Mycroft really took over raising me. I don't even remember Father at all, but I remember Mycroft, as far back as my memories go. And there's lots of good memories with him too," Rose added, smiling thoughtfully.

"Things became more difficult when Mum died. I was eleven and Mycroft became fully responsible for me and Sherlock as well I guess. Even though Sherlock was an adult by then, he's always worried Mycroft to a considerable extent."

John laughed. "He still does. Mycroft offered me money to spy on Sherlock for him when I moved into 221B."

She rolled her eyes. "That doesn't surprise me at all. But I think it was very stressful for Mycroft, worrying about Sherlock and trying to raise me. I admit I wasn't the easiest of children." Her face blushed a bit at that admission.

"I don't think children are ever easy. They all worry their parents or guardians and act out as they grow up," John commented thoughtfully. "Were you and Sherlock close?"

"Yes, very! Always have been," Rose confirmed with a grin. "Though I'm not entirely sure when he made the transition from just being my older brother to becoming a second guardian, more or less. But I followed him around a lot when I was small." She laughed softly, thinking back to all the fun they'd had then. "The more Mycroft became involved in the government though, the more they shared taking care of me, which brought Sherlock and I even closer. I think he's always understood me better than Mycroft, who is very, very traditional." Rose sighed and drank more of her latte.

"He wants what's best for me, and I really do know that, he's just very overbearing about it. That's why I had to get away. I couldn't stay in law school, I was so completely miserable there. I wanted to be an adult, get out in the world and see new places, meet new people, and really establish myself as independent. Maybe, in retrospect, it wasn't my brightest decision ever." Rose whispered that admission, as if confessing a secret to John.

"To be honest, I'd have to agree with that. Not the brightest idea. I admire the boldness of it," John admitted. "Everyone needs to get out there and have some adventures when they're young. It's not especially adult to vanish in order to do so, leaving family members worried sick about you." His tone was lightly scolding and he hoped Rose would take his words to heart and think twice before ever disappearing again.

Rose blushed, looking a bit ashamed of herself, clearly agreeing with John on a certain level. "I know," she said quietly. "And I do feel badly that I worried them. Sometimes I really missed them terribly. At the same time though, it was such a freeing experience! Police weren't called to look for me if I was thirty minutes late, I wasn't followed around by people under the guise of protecting me. A person has to fall flat on their face sometimes, learn from the experience, and move on, right?"

John nodded. "That's true enough," he agreed. "Life is often a series of trials and errors, and that's what gives us character and makes us who we are. So what exactly were your big plans that you proposed to Mycroft today? I'm assuming he didn't agree with them," he added.

As Rose detailed her plan for him, he found himself thinking it might actually be for the best if she took that empty flat in their building. While she had achieved quite a lot at a young age, it was very clear to him that Rose was still transitioning from teenager to adult and didn't know _everything. _It wouldn't hurt to have her close enough for Sherlock to keep an eye on, while still allowing some independence.

"What kind of dancing do you want to do professionally?" John asked. He smiled as he watched her face light up when she talked about dancing. It was clearly something very important to her, that she was passionate about, and he personally didn't see the harm in letting her try to make a go of it. Then again, Rose wasn't his sister either.

"Ballroom dancing in particular, just because it's such a big deal right now," Rose explained. "I'm rather good at it and I've done it for a quite some time. I think if I found the right partner, we could do competitions and I could get my name out there. Ballet and ballroom are by far my strengths, but I've had training in jazz, tap, you name it. I think I'd like to have my own studio some day, but that isn't likely to happen without a professional reputation."

"All very good points to consider. Try to give Mycroft some time, maybe he'll come 'round," John advised. He personally doubted it, but one could always hope!

After spending the better part of two hours chatting at the coffee shop, John and Rose caught a cab back to Baker Street. Sherlock had already returned from the crime scene he'd visited and was busy in the kitchen, doing an experiment on some fingers he'd been keeping in the fridge.

"You know, I grew up watching him do experiments, but seeing him do stuff like that just never becomes normal," Rose murmured to John.

"And let's hope it stays that way," John said, laughing. "I might begin to worry about us if we stop being bothered by it." As a doctor, John didn't mind the blood or dismembered body parts he often saw Sherlock experiment with, it was more the fact that it was done in their kitchen where they cooked meals that bothered him. Somehow, he'd learned to put that aside, at least most of the time, after living with Sherlock for over a year now.

"Rose, did you throw a tea pot at Mycroft's head?" Sherlock asked, never looking up from his work.

"Skipping the pleasantries, are we?" Rose asked quietly. "Yes, I threw a tea pot at his head and he deserved it. He said something very, very hurtful."

"Oh my god. You're completely serious, aren't you?" John asked, his eyebrows raised, looking between brother and sister.

"Damn, I was hoping Mycroft was exaggerating to gain sympathy from me," Sherlock muttered. With a long-suffering sigh, he put down the finger he was working with and looked at her. "Come here," he said firmly, crooking his finger at her. "Now."

With the tragic air of someone on their way to be executed, Rose shuffled across the sitting room and entered the kitchen, stopping next to her brother.

"First, let me say that I love you dearly," Sherlock said quietly. "However, I am compelled to ask if you are completely insane?" His only answer was a dark scowl, so he merely continued. "You are so illogical at times it's almost inconceivable. I don't even know what to say to you. A tea pot; at his _head_. That is childish Rosenwyn, not to mention dangerous. Mycroft required stitches! When are you going to outgrow this nasty habit of throwing things at people? And I'm not talking about your slipper this morning, which was done in jest I know, but when you're angry. At some point you simply _must _stop throwing things at people just because they've vexed you. Even when they deserve it, and I have no doubt Mycroft did deserve a tea pot to the head, that does _not _make it acceptable behavior."

The longer Sherlock scolded, the redder her face became, until Rose decided her shoes were much more interesting to look at. Perhaps what bothered her most was that she couldn't really disagree with anything he'd said, as much as she wanted to.

"How old are you, Rosenwyn?" Sherlock asked sternly. When Rose didn't answer, or even look at him, he reached out to tip her head back up. "I suggest you pay attention to what I have to say, miss. Answer the question. How old are you?"

"Nineteen; twenty just before Christmas," she answered in a meek tone.

"Your actions today do not reflect that you are of legal age or that you are a fully capable adult that can make intelligent decisions." Sherlock knew his tone was quite harsh, causing Rose to cringe, but she needed to hear this. "If your plan was to convince Mycroft that you're old enough to decide where to live and what sort of career you'd like to have, I'd say you failed spectacularly at that, because adults. Don't. Throw. Tea pots."

Tears gathered in her blue-gray eyes and began to silently trail down her cheeks, but to her credit, Rose nodded to indicate she understood him. "Sherlock," she whispered, her breath hitching. "H-h-he said…"

Sherlock had intended to continue scolding her but something in her eyes told him to wait and let her get what she needed to say out.

"He said 'I m-m-most certainly didn't ask for you to be born and become m-m-my responsibility,'" Rose whispered through her tears.

The look in her eyes was absolutely heartbreaking and Sherlock immediately wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. He was stunned by what Mycroft had said to her, and very, very angry. He hugged Rose tighter still when she began to sob.

For John, who had been sitting in his arm chair and overheard the entire exchange in the kitchen, Rose's behavior earlier suddenly made sense. It was no wonder she'd been lashing out at him; anger was always much easier to deal with than the kind of hurt Mycroft's comment must have caused.

Without a word, Sherlock picked Rose up and carried her over to the couch where he could hold her better than he could in the kitchen. Settling her on his lap, he began rubbing her back gently as she cried. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I'm so sorry he said that."

When her tears eased up, Sherlock tipped her chin up to look at her. "He didn't mean that Rose," he assured her earnestly. "I know he didn't because I was there the day you were born and Mycroft was absolutely enamored of you. As was I," he added, pausing to kiss her forehead. "He loves you very, very much and I know he didn't mean it. And I will make certain he knows how out of line that was. But I promise you, he loves you and has never once in the last nineteen years ever uttered a word of complaint or unhappiness at raising you. We're very proud to call you ours, you know that? Whatever you do, you'll always be ours and we will love you through it all."

The depth of emotion in Sherlock's words took John by surprise and he knew without a doubt that his best friend meant every word he said. Rose was a lucky girl, to have Sherlock, and Sherlock was lucky to have her, John was sure of it.

"I will make this right Rose, I promise," Sherlock vowed. "John," he asked, turning his attention to his friend. "Would you get me some tissues and a cool cloth?" He continued to soothe and reassure his sister that she was very much loved and wanted as he waited for John to return.

"Alright, time to dry your eyes," Sherlock told her. Using the tissues, he gently wiped away Rose's tears and dried her face. "Lean back against the arm of the sofa, I'm going to put this cool cloth over your eyes. They look very sore."

Rose did as he asked and closed her eyes so he could put the cool cloth over them. "Thank you," she whispered. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled, despite her inability to see it. "I know you do," he replied, kissing her cheek. "And I love you as well. I'll make certain this is resolved, you have my word. Just rest, let me take care of everything, Rosie." He held onto her tightly for several minutes as she began to relax and finally fell asleep. Removing the cloth from her eyes, Sherlock carried her into his room and tucked her into the bed.

"I'm going to murder my brother," he told John emphatically when he returned to the sitting room.

"Well, you're likely the only person I know who could actually get away with murder… if your brother wasn't the British government," John pointed out. "You might want to rethink that plan."

Sherlock scowled; how he hated it when John was correct! "Horribly mangle him then."

"That gets messy," John quipped. "Mrs. Hudson won't want pints of blood spilled all over in here."

"I'll mangle him elsewhere then," Sherlock decided.

This time, John actually looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading. "You're not going to throw Mycroft out the window, are you?" he asked in all seriousness. "I don't think Lestrade is going to let that slide a second time, considering Mycroft isn't a "house breaker.""

"Oh,_ do _shut up John. You're ruining my fun," Sherlock retorted darkly, flopping into his chair. "And yes, I'm seriously considering doing just that. His remark was cruel and served no purpose other than to hurt her, and in that he very much succeeded! Oh, I know she's quite good at getting him worked up, and vice versa, but he has never lashed out like that. The reason for it is irrelevant, however. He is twice her age and should have been able to control himself."

Sherlock reflected on the matter for several minutes before hurrying downstairs to see Mrs. Hudson and directing her not to let Mycroft up under any circumstances. Once he had her agreement, he returned to his flat to plot the slow, horrible murder of his brother.

Several hours later, Rose was awake and a bit more cheerful, or at least attempting to be so. She recruited John to help her clean up the kitchen, lightly scolding her brother about all the body parts stuffed in places around the kitchen. "Disgusting Sherlock, truly. Try and disinfect… well, everything would you, John? I'm certain we'd all like to eat this evening, but that won't happen until all the nasty bits are put away."

Sherlock laughed loudly. "Nasty bits, hmm? Some respect for science you have, young lady! Those nasty bits could save a man from decades of unjust incarceration."

"Or they could completely contaminate our dinner and kill us," Rose retorted in a huff. She flashed Sherlock a smile, to assure him she was teasing, before thanking John for his help and ushering him out of the kitchen. After popping her ear buds in and turning on her ipod, Rose set about to make what she hoped would be an impressive dinner.

Sherlock watched her, utterly fascinated by the level of skill she demonstrated. "She couldn't do that before she left," he told John. "It was a miracle she could make tea and spaghetti all on her own. This is one of the moments that makes me think she really has matured since her disappearance. Then there are moments like the tea pot throwing, which was completely justified in my opinion, that are evidence she is not yet ready to be on her own. Oh, she managed, clearly, on her own while "adventuring" as she calls it, but there is a world of difference between essentially backpacking through Europe and being a successful adult in London. Rose is nearly there though, I'm sure of it."

The note of pride in Sherlock's voice made John smile. "She seems to be a very special girl. It's unfortunate what happened today with Mycroft."

"It is. I hope he understands how badly he hurt her," Sherlock murmured. "Despite today's events, I am very relieved to have her back. It was a bit frightening, imagining her out there all alone, with no one to watch over her."

As the two friends talked, Rose began humming along with her music, and before long, began singing a song that gave Sherlock pause, causing both men to stop and listen.

"Come to me, my melancholy baby," Rose sang, unaware she had an audience or even that she was singing aloud and not in her head. "Cuddle up and don't you be blue…Smile, my honey dear, while I brush away each tear. Or else, I shall be melancholy, too."

The sound of clapping that accompanied the end of the song startled Rose, causing her to drop the spatula on the floor. Pausing to stop her ipod, she then picked the utensil up and tossed it into the sink.

"Wow, that was really great," John said appreciatively.

Sherlock, however, said nothing, instead getting up to enter the kitchen and hug her tightly. "That was lovely, Rosie," he whispered in her ear. "Sadly, I think you sang it much better than I ever did when trying to get you to sleep."

Rose laughed and pecked his cheek before turning back to the food. "Your singing capabilities weren't the important part, Sherlock. The fact that you did it was."

"_You _sang lullabies?" John asked, looking slightly bewildered.

"Not a word to another living soul, John Watson. Not. A. Word," Sherlock commanded.

"And in any case, Melancholy Baby isn't really a lullaby," Rose added. "But it was soothing all same. Sadly though, Sherlock was no Dean Martin, but he…" She suddenly stopped speaking and the color began draining from her face while John coughed uncomfortably.

Sherlock turned to see what had bothered Rose and discovered Mycroft standing in the sitting room. His eyes narrowed and he advanced on his elder brother. "Leave. Immediately."

"I'm here to apologize," Mycroft said quietly. "I want to speak with her Sherlock."

Both Rose and John gasped as Sherlock's fist connected with Mycroft's face and sent him to the floor, blood spattering everywhere.


	4. Making it Work

"Sherlock!" Rose shouted. "My god, what did you do that for?!" She rushed to Mycroft's side but was gently ushered aside by John, who was now in full doctor mode.

"He hurt you terribly and that was wrong," Sherlock explained in a dull tone.

"So you break his _face_?"

"No, no, not the whole face. Definitely the nose and Mycroft is out cold," John interrupted. "He'll need to go to hospital and get an x-ray. You've got a hell of a right hook Sherlock. Poor Mycroft is going to be very colorful looking in a few hours."

"Is everything alright dears?" Mrs. Hudson asked sweetly, appearing in their doorway. "I heard a thud and… Oh my." She sighed. "Sherlock dear, is that your brother on the floor?"

"Yes, it is, and Sherlock broke his face," Rose grumbled shaking her head.

"I thought for a moment Sherlock might be shooting the wall again, but since there was only one loud noise, I decided to come up. Is he going to be alright?" Mrs. Hudson asked. "Should I call an ambulance?" She bent over the oldest Holmes, tutting a bit.

"Shooting the wall? You _shot _the _wall_?" Rose asked, turning a dark look on her brother. "Oh, aren't you one to talk! Scold me for throwing a tea pot when you shoot walls?"

Sherlock groaned. "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," he ground out. "I was trying to relieve boredom between cases." His tone clearly implied that such a choice should not only be obvious, but make complete sense.

Rose lightly smacked his arm. "You're a bloody idiot, you know that?"

"Help me get Mycroft downstairs," John directed his friend. "And into a cab. He'll be fine, but he needs an x-ray just to make certain he's alright."

"Don't you think you're exaggerating things a bit?" Sherlock asked.

"You knocked him to the floor and he's lost consciousness," John pointed out with a scowl. "So no, I don't think I am. And perhaps an ambulance is for the best. I don't think he'll be pleased to see any of us when he wakes up. Please, do call Mrs. Hudson."

The landlady hurried downstairs to call an ambulance and a short time later, Mycroft was on his way to the hospital. After spending a few hours in the emergency room, the eldest Holmes was discharged with a packed nose and returned home. It had never felt emptier than it did that night.

'Are you alright?'

'Do I sense some concern, brother? M'

'It's Rose. Got worried.'

'I'm happy to hear from you. M'

'You didn't answer my question.'

'I have a very colorful face today. Keep getting sympathetic looks. M'

'What do you tell people?'

'Tripped over the rug. M'

'LOL. Not very original. I need a mobile; Sherlock will have a hissy about me using his.'

'Your account at the bank is still open. And what does "LOL" mean? M'

"Give me that!" Sherlock growled, snatching his mobile back.

Rose rolled her eyes and huffed, leaning back on the couch. "If I invite Mycroft over for a talk, are you going to attempt to break his face again?"

Now Sherlock was the one doing the eye rolling. "You're ridiculously over dramatic. I did not attempt to break his face. I was trying to express what an arse he was for what he said to you."

"Duly noted. But you're thirty-one. Use your words, Sherlock, like a big boy," Rose replied, attempting to sound stern.

"My way was much faster and more pleasurable," he ground out through clenched teeth.

Rose sighed softly. "Hitting him didn't make me feel better."

Sherlock's eyebrow quirked.

"Ok, maybe it did for two minutes, but he's my brother. _Our_ brother. If Mycroft and I don't talk about what happened, what he said, it's going to become this huge cavernous divide between he and I and nothing will ever be the same," she explained quietly. "And there was little point to my coming home if all it does is make you two fight even more than you already do."

"Mycroft and I have never gotten on well together, and that started long before you were born," Sherlock admitted. "Don't try to fix us, it won't work. And stop sounding so grown up and mature. Makes me feel… old. And that is unpleasant."

Rose laughed softly, getting up from the couch to help herself to Sherlock's lap as he sat in his chair. "I am trying. I did learn some things while I was away; even if I still throw things at people who vex me. Oh, and I need my passport back. My legitimate one," she commented before pecking his cheek.

Sherlock gave her a stern look. "Out of the question."

"I'm not planning on leaving, but I need identification or the bank won't issue me a new card for my account. All the other IDs I have are fake names. Like my Luxembourg driver's license. I can drive a stick shift now!" Rose grinned, quite proud of her achievement. "But my account isn't under the name Nora Charles and I need a mobile since you won't share yours."

"You make a valid point. However, I'm not giving it to you," Sherlock said firmly. "I will remove it from my deposit box at the bank, hand it over to whomever will issue you a new card, and then it will go straight back in the box."

"It's a crime to keep someone's passport from them, you know," she pointed out with a sigh.

"I'm quite sure, given your history, that Lestrade will ignore you completely if you attempt to report me," Sherlock retorted. "Let's go to the bank, shall we?"

There were noises everywhere, accompanied by the inane chatter of lesser intelligent beings. Considerably lesser intelligence from the sounds of it. Ring tones, giggly teenagers, blasting music with indiscernible lyrics, electronics scattered everywhere in the most obnoxious array of bright colors.

"_How_ did this happen?" Sherlock hissed. "This is like hell on earth. There is too much stupid in this building and it is unbearable."

_Twenty Minutes Prior_

John pressed the buzzer in his office to connect him to the surgery's reception. "Will you send in the next one please? Thank you." At that exact moment, his phone vibrated and John checked it to see a message from Sherlock.

'Will you take Rose to find a mobile? SH'

'I'm at surgery.'

'Later then? SH'

'No.'

"No?" Sherlock read aloud in disbelief. "What does he mean "no" ?"

'Why not? SH'

'Hate shopping. And she's your sister, not mine.'

_Present _

"How did this happen?" Rose repeated. "I need a mobile and you refuse to share nicely, but you're afraid to let me out of your sight or that of someone you trust. Also, John said no. How does any of that confuse you?"

Sherlock glared darkly at her. "Insufferable brat. Go find a mobile, quickly, so we can leave before my brain cells start committing suicide." He watched Rose shake her head and wander off before finding an employee. At least they were easily discernible in their bright red shirts and name tags.

"I want to put my sister on my mobile plan," he told a young man named Stan. "And I want this process finished as quickly as possible. Also, I would like to know the capabilities of the GPS locator in whatever mobile she selects, specifically how well I can track her with it."

Stan stood there for a few seconds before answering. "You want to track her mobile?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Yes, obviously, that is why I asked. I want to be able to chart her everywhere she goes, if that is possible."

"Probably, but isn't that kind of, like, borderline stalker behavior?" Stan asked, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously.

"Yes, yes it is," Rose confirmed as she joined her brother. "He's slightly paranoid because I have a habit of wandering off on occasion."

"As in wandering to other countries unannounced," Sherlock added.

"Um… Ok. Right," Stan said slowly. "Let me check you out, and get this phone added to your plan sir. I'll also provide you with some brochures about this model's features that you might find useful in your… uh…"

Rose laughed. "I think the phrase you're searching for is "stalkerish activities," yeah?"

"Oh just hurry up!" Sherlock snapped at Stan. "And Rosenwyn, _do_ shut up."

"Pay him no mind at all, Stan," Rose said, giving the employee a dazzling smile. "It's really not you, Sherlock just hates people in general and is chronically incapable of being polite."

'Got a mobile! It's Rose by the way.'

'Sherlock took me and had a hissy at the store. Quite humorous.'

'I'm sorry to have missed it. M'

'Should we talk, or something? Like adults I mean.'

'I think it would be best. Would you like dinner out? M'

'Yeah, sure! Come 'round and fetch me at 7.'

The one nice thing about his club, Mycroft reflected, was that no one was allowed to speak. Therefore, no one was allowed to question him about the few stitches on his forehead or the multitude of purples and reds that was his face. Silence was a most wonderful thing indeed, particularly when accompanied by some very expensive brandy.

And then his phone vibrated. 'We need to talk. No, I won't hit you again. Probably. SH'

Forsaking the large lounge where gentlemen read their papers or books in complete silence while enjoying a variety of liquors, Mycroft greeted Sherlock at the front door of the club and motioned for his brother to follow him. There was an office within the club that Mycroft often availed himself of to which he led Sherlock, where they could speak without disturbing the mandatory silence in most of the building. He typically used the office to talk with John, who was more likely to actually answer him and come then Sherlock. Not that he really gave John a choice.

Sherlock's face took on a look of abject horror when he caught sight of his brother's face. "John was right! You have a very… colorful face today."

Mycroft's eyes narrowed. "Please tell me you are not interrupting my time here to come examine my face and see how badly you damaged it."

"No, that is not why I'm here. I'm here about us, and Rose. We need to work out this… dysfunctional and untraditional type of co-parenting sort of arrangement we have," Sherlock said firmly, taking a seat in a plush arm chair.

Mycroft took the seat opposite him and nodded. "I'm listening."

"Firstly, you simply must make it up to her for what you said yesterday. She was devastated. Rose isn't like us, Mycroft. We can shut off our emotions as need be, or even shove them away for good for long periods of time, but she can't. Rose is very much like mother. Or at least when mother was in better health, that is. Free spirited. Sensitive," Sherlock explained.

"And you wish me to be more sensitive?"

"To work on it, yes. Or all the reasons why we love her will disappear and so will she, again," Sherlock said quietly. "And maybe she won't come home next time. Ever."

The thought was a sobering one for Mycroft.

"We both need to work on our relationship with her, I believe, but you in particular. I am not just being judgmental here, Mycroft, I'm speaking quite earnestly, out of concern for Rose and not because I think I am any better of a sort of parent-like figure than you are…"

Mycroft's eyebrow quirked.

"Alright, alright, so I think I do better at it in some aspects than you do," Sherlock admitted with a scowl. "But I only say that because Rose has confided in me. Apparently I'm very comforting, or something." A slightly bewildered look crossed his face as Sherlock described himself as 'comforting.'

"And what has she chosen to confide in you?" Mycroft was beginning to feel very uncomfortable with this entire exchange, fearing on some level that Rose had confessed she hated him.

"You don't hug her anymore."

Mycroft bristled. What kind of accusation was that? "So she sat on your lap and gave you these wide, begging eyes and said 'Mycroft is so mean! He won't even hug me anymore," he asked, doing an imitation of a whiny teenager.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and rubbed his forehead. "No. I asked her why she came to Baker Street when she returned to the country, rather than go with your men in the car to see you, knowing either way she'd be in serious trouble for disappearing. Aside from the fact that you have a cane and have used it, which I do _not _approve of, by the way, she told me she came to Baker Street because at least she knew I'd comfort her afterwards."

Instead of feeling picked on, as he had been just a moment ago, Mycroft now felt confused. Comforting? Was that really such a problem? She kept saying she was an adult and had long ago grown past the stage where she needed to be cuddled after being disciplined. Hadn't she? He had stopped accepting cuddles around eleven or so. Isn't that what everyone did when they started to grow up and near their teenage years?

"Yes, Mycroft, but she's not like you. She's a girl and a sensitive one at that," Sherlock stated.

"I hadn't asked a question or even say anything out loud!" Mycroft explained.

"You were thinking very loudly. It was becoming irritating, so I interrupted you in order to lead you more quickly to the appropriate conclusion," Sherlock responded, sounding irritated.

"Alright, I'll work on it," Mycroft snapped back. "And the co-parenting issue?"

"Rose told me you had agreed to let her move into the empty flat next door, prior to her throwing the tea pot at you. Which, by the way, if you punish her for, I actually _will _"break your face," as Rose says. You deserved that and the broken nose for saying what you did. You had better make that up to her and mean it Mycroft," Sherlock threatened. "Are you still willing to allow her to do so?"

"If it keeps her from running off again, yes, because at least she'll be nearby one of us. We can keep an eye on her that way," Mycroft explained. "Why?"

"When she moves in then, I think it is only appropriate that I become the main disciplinarian. As much as I would like to think I won't need to take her over my knee again, we both know that it will happen at some point. If she is next door to John and I, it's my rules and I do the disciplining when she breaks them. Though I will keep your concerns in mind, provided they aren't ridiculous," Sherlock offered. "Is that an arrangement you can live with?"

"Yes, I believe I can. Though I still want to be involved, I'm not shedding all my responsibilities, but it does logically make more sense for you to set the rules since she'll more or less be living under your roof, in a manner of speaking," Mycroft agreed.

"Excellent," Sherlock said. "I'll take my leave."

"Tell Rose to dress up, we're going out to the very best restaurant in town," Mycroft said. "And if she doesn't have suitable clothing, make sure that is taken care of."

With a nod, Sherlock left the club to return to Baker Street.

'Molly, I require your assistance. My sister is in need of some sort of evening wear and presumably make-up. Will text you her size. SH'

Never had Molly Hooper been so delighted as when she'd received that text from Sherlock, asking _her _to help! Within forty-five minutes she had arrived with three dresses, three pairs of shoes, a purse and make-up, ready to loan them to Rose who just happened to be about the same size. There were all sorts of annoying giggles and girl chattering and talking of shopping dates, almost to the point of being beyond endurance. Sherlock was sure he'd never been so relieved to see Molly leave as he was just now.

John arrived back at the flat shortly after Molly left, having been kept at surgery later than usual. He found Sherlock had turned his chair towards the bathroom and was watching his sister rather intent, his hands steepled. Following Sherlock's gaze, all John saw was Rose in her brother's robe, applying make-up and fixing her hair.

"Something wrong?" he asked. "Want tea?"

"Yes. And I'm… gathering data," Sherlock answered, never averting his eyes.

"What kind of data? She's getting ready to go out, that's not mysterious you know," John pointed out.

"She's singing again. I'm trying to deduce whether the lyrics are some sort of musical news bulletin I should be aware of or not," Sherlock responded.

"I'm looking for trouble. I'm going to throw the book away. Be unpredictable from day to day, in every way I can," Rose sang, blissfully unaware that she was being very intently scrutinized by her brother.

"Sounds fine to me, just a song Sherlock. Not everything is something you need to deduce." Knowing Sherlock was unlikely to take his opinion seriously, he went into the kitchen to make some tea.

"I'm gonna find me a lover, wear him with pride. One who can show me a real good time," Rose sang.

"Rosenwyn!" Sherlock thundered. "That's obscene!"

Rose put down the eye shadow she'd been looking at and turned to face Sherlock. "I haven't even put on the dress yet, how do you know whether it's obscene or not?"

"Not the dress! That song, it's obscene. You shouldn't be singing about… about…" Sherlock huffed. "About lovers! Frankly, it's disgusting," he informed her.

Rose looked completely confused for a moment before bursting into laughter. "Oh my god, you are a very strange duck, you know that? Seriously strange." And naturally, just to be contrary, she began singing that very song again from the beginning.

"Rosenwyn Aramantha, I will confiscate your ipod if I hear anymore music of that nature coming out of your mouth!"

Rolling her eyes, Rose picked up the eye shadow, singing the lyrics in her head rather than aloud.

"Stop that! You're singing it again," Sherlock said, scowling darkly.

"How did you know?!" Rose turned to look at John. "He still does that? That 'I know what's going on in your head' bit and accusing people of thinking too loudly?"

"All the time," John confirmed.

"I ought to rethink moving next door, he's going to turn this place into a madhouse," Rose muttered, not meaning a word of it. "Or, at the very least, it's going to be a very interesting adventure."


	5. Reaching Out

Rose was a bundle of nerves as she waited for Mycroft to arrive. Maybe this hadn't been such a good idea. What if he got angry with her again and said something terrible? Or would he behave himself since they'd be in public? That was her hope, at any rate. The true underlying issue, Rose reflected internally, was whether or not he would ever be happy with who she was.

"You're fine just as you are, you know," Sherlock commented. He looked up from the book he was reading and gave her a bit of a smile. "Though it certainly wouldn't hurt if you were better behaved," he stated with a wink.

"That really never stops being sort of creepy," Rose said, giving him a smile in return. "But thanks just the same. Is it ever strange being able to interpret what people are thinking at times?"

"Often it's rather annoying, because most people are alarmingly stupid," he admitted. "It does have its usefulness though. And I don't interpret, I deduce." Sherlock looked up when he heard footsteps on the stairs. "Mycroft," he greeted, giving his brother a significant look. "I do believe Rose is all ready."

"Better put on a coat, it's a bit chilly out," Mycroft advised his sister. "You clean up well."

"Your face!" Rose exclaimed. "Wow. Just… wow." She scowled at Sherlock. "See what you did? That is not nice. Shouldn't hit your brother, you know."

An eyebrow quirked. "Just brothers, or should I not assault people in general?"

"Just brothers," she confirmed. "Take it on a case by case basis with the general public." Rose retrieved her jacket and left the flat with her oldest brother.

After opening the door for her, Mycroft got in on the driver's side of the car. The air was almost crackling with tension as he pulled away from the curb, prompting him to let out a sigh.

"I like your car. It's new, yeah?" Rose asked.

"Very, six months. I don't drive it very often; the tube or cabs are usually more convenient."

"I know how to drive now. I can drive a manual transmission too. I learned while I was staying in Luxembourg, a friend taught me."

Mycroft frowned. That hadn't been a destination he'd have thought Rose would be interested in going to. "What was there? I mean, what made you go there?"

"That was what made me go there. I didn't really know anything about it, so I thought, why not check it out? Can't use that license here though, it's not under my real name. I'll have to test here as well. Then again, I don't have a car so perhaps there's no point," she admitted.

"You're not practicing in this car, let me tell you," Mycroft hurriedly told her. He could envision the chaos already.

She fell silent after that and he couldn't help wondering if he'd managed to say something wrong already. Why did raising girls have to be so complicated? It really wasn't fair. It also made him reevaluate any plans to potentially marry or have children of his own; he wasn't entirely convinced he could survive another teenager. "Ah, here we are. Baker Street is rather centrally located," he said. "It's valet service as well."

She stepped out of the car and waited for Mycroft to give his keys to the attendant so they could walk into the restaurant together. Within just a few minutes they were being escorted to their seats.

"I think we need some rules for this meal," Rose said quietly, after they sat down. "We have to try and really listen to each other and we cannot say anything hurtful. And if you do, I will pour my drink on you and leave. I don't have to sit there and listen to you tell me hurtful things again."

"That's fair," Mycroft agreed. Their server stopped at the table just then, inquiring about drinks. He selected a white wine from the list and was more than a little surprised when Rose indicated she would take the same. He didn't say anything, but his eyebrow quirked and he gave her pointed look.

"Or, you know, coffee would be better instead. And cream, please," Rose decided, blushing a bit.

"I wasn't aware you drank," Mycroft murmured.

"On occasion, not regularly. I am legal age for it." Her tone was a bit defensive.

"I'm not criticizing you. Though I would hope you exercise caution and do not drink yourself into a state where you blackout and end up who knows where," Mycroft admitted. "You seem very defensive."

Rose frowned. "Wouldn't you be, after what you said yesterday? I'm willing to talk with you and try to work this out, but it's going to be a very long time before I forget what you said. That was so hurtful and I don't think you really grasp that, not fully."

When their drinks arrived, Rose fixed her coffee and Mycroft seized the opportunity to speak. "You're right, I don't know how that made you feel, not truly," he admitted. "I very much regret saying what I did. It was completely out of line, said in the heat of anger, and not the least bit reflective of my true feelings of you Rose."

"I don't know if I believe that. I can't be what you want me to be, Mycroft, because that's not who I am. I'm not a politician or an aspiring lawyer, or whatever else you want from me. I have a hard enough time being me I can't be someone different for you. I'm very out of place in this world so much of the time and that's difficult, especially when I can't seem to fit into my own family." The words came out in a bit of a rush, as if Rose was trying to get everything out before she could forget it, or could be interrupted.

Mycroft nodded, looking thoughtful. "I'm not sure I follow you, Rose. Can you expand a bit? Why do you say that you're out of place?" It had been a very long time since she'd been so open with him and he began to realize that Sherlock was right. He had been too distant and Rose hadn't felt she was able to come to him because she felt he wouldn't listen or didn't understand.

"I just don't fit in with, well, almost everyone," Rose responded. "I'm almost twenty, but I'm well ahead of most twenty year olds in terms of education so I have a hard time relating to them and their life experiences, because I went through all those stages a long time ago that they're going through now. And I don't really fit in with anyone who is older than me because of the age gap and the lack of life experiences that they have and I don't. It's hard to be so in-between, too old for people my age, too young for people on my level academically.

"And you never seem to support the things I like about myself: my dancing, my hobbies, potential career paths, the friends I do have. None of it. You are always so disapproving of me and I make myself miserable trying to do what you wanted me to do. And that's why I left, because I was so unhappy." By this time, tears had gathered in her eyes and Rose attempted to blink them away.

For a few minutes that seemed to last an hour, their table was silent as Mycroft tried to digest everything Rose had told him. Finally the server arrived to take their food order and then left once again. Mycroft had no idea what to say or where to begin, so he reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

"We all have to make our own place in this world," he finally said. "It's not easy, and we all go through the process that you're experiencing now, and have been experiencing for a few years," he admitted. "And it was never my intention to make that process more difficult or to make you feel as if who you are, as a person, was not good enough and therefore unable to fit into our rather dysfunctional family."

"We're very dysfunctional I think," Rose interrupted, giving him a tiny smile.

"I've never been unhappy to have you," Mycroft continued. "You confuse me very, very much sometimes, because you are so different from Sherlock and I. I'm not always certain that I make the right choices where you are concerned. What I am certain of, is that you are the only thing that unites the three of us as a somewhat dysfunctional family. Do you realize that? The only time Sherlock and I ever cooperate about anything at all, or even attempt to, is when you are involved because we care about you far more than we care about being contrary with one another."

Rose sighed. "Now see? That's a lovely thing to say. So why did you say something so terrible to me, if you didn't even mean it? That doesn't make sense."

"I cannot answer that, because I truly don't know," Mycroft answered truthfully. "I was angry and lost my temper."

"Not good excuses-"

"I know. I could also blame it on a long and difficult day and a multitude of other things, but I'm not going too," Mycroft assured her. "Because you're right, none of those are good excuses. I was angry though, I think I have been very angry since you left, and since you came back. Somewhere along the way I've lost you and that is a difficult thing to deal with. Again, not a good reason to be cruel, but I can't offer you a reason that isn't there that might be easier to hear."

She studied him for a moment before sipping her coffee. "I don't follow. And please don't frown at me; I'm not trying to be difficult. But I lost me, or disappeared me… neither of which is grammatically correct, but what I mean is that I chose to leave. Or is that not even what you're referring to?"

Mycroft sighed and down a large swallow of his brandy.

"I know this isn't easy for you," Rose said quietly. "To talk about this; about me; about feelings in general. But I need you too. I can't compartmentalize things the way you do."

"I know, and that's why I struggle with you sometimes," he admitted. "Because I'm not certain that I'm doing what you need me to, or being what you need me to be, especially when it comes to sentiment. What I mean, specifically, is that I believe I started losing you a while back, before you left. I don't know why it happened and I have no idea how to fix it."

Rose smiled. "And that's the part I'm good at. Fixing, speaking, and all that mushy stuff you aren't good at. I don't expect you to do things that aren't at all you, but I miss the way we used to be, when I was younger. When you told me you loved me on a daily basis, even if it wasn't always in words. I need you to do those things again and I…"

She took a deep breath to steady herself. "And I need to know you haven't stopped caring about me because I've done something wrong that I didn't even know I did. We're not the same and we haven't been in a long time. What did I do?"

Her willingness to accept the blame for the distance that had grown between them, prior to her vanishing act, touched Mycroft more than he could express. But he tried, all the same. "To put it in the most simplistic terms possible, you grew up. You started getting older, Mother passed on, and I don't know anything about girls."

Rose let out a giggle, which she tried to cover with a cough when Mycroft's eyebrows rose. "So sorry. Please continue."

"I mean little girls, or rather, you as a little girl," Mycroft clarified. "No one tells you how to parent, Rose. No book can ever explain adequately how rewarding and difficult being a parent can be. While I know I am not your actual parent, I'm the closest thing to it that an older brother can be. And if there's no adequate book to understand parenting, let me assure you there is no book at all that even mentions being the older brother raising a little sister much younger than himself."

"So what you're saying is its trial and error and always has been?" Rose asked.

"Essentially, yes. I've worked it out as I've gone along. Sometimes I've done well and other times I've done poorly. And girls are so much different than boys. Not that Sherlock is normal by any stretch of the imagination, but it's a very different dynamic. You've always needed a lot more than I even thought you did and think, in an effort to try and let you grow up and not be cosseted, I pulled away too much. Since then, things have gone slowly downward until you disappeared," Mycroft explained.

"You know, that actually makes a lot of sense. And please don't think that I ever thought, or do think now, that you don't love me. I know you do and I know you want good things for me. But I need more than your good intentions, yeah? Together, we need to work on getting closer again, like we used to be. We need more talking like this, and we need more affection in general. You might be ok without it, but I'm not," Rose confessed.

Mycroft nodded, looking thoughtful as he considered her words. "I would very much like us to be close again. I cannot promise things will be a bed of roses, but what I can assure you is that I don't want to us to be estranged."

Rose stood up and hugged Mycroft tight, kissing his cheek before resuming her seat. "And that is just what I was hoping to hear. I won't expect you to be perfect, I promise. We just have to try, the both of us. Now, where did that server go because our food is taking forever and I really might just expire any minute if it doesn't come soon!"

"Never have outgrown that over dramatic streak, have you?" Mycroft chuckled. A part of him, though he would never admit it aloud, hoped she never would.


	6. A Study in Chaos

"She's not answering my texts," Sherlock said, stalking back and forth across the sitting room.

"Sherlock, sit down. She's with Mycroft, it's not as though he's going to murder her in a restaurant. Or anywhere for that matter," John responded. "You can't hold her hand all her life."

Sherlock scowled. "We should have gone with to make sure everything went alright. It's been two hours; she should be back by now."

John shook his head. "No, we made the right choice Sherlock and you know that, even if you are worried. I'm sure she'll be back soon and tell you all about how it went. If it had gone badly, she would have returned long ago," he pointed out.

"Who would have returned long ago?" Rose asked, entering the flat.

"You're back!" Sherlock exclaimed. He looked Rose up and down, searching for signs of distress.

"Yes, I am and I'm fine," Rose confirmed. "Just fine."

"Was Mycroft an idiot?"

"Mycroft tried very hard to make things right," she assured him. "Very hard. I won't forget what he said, not for a long while, but I think he and I understand each other a little better though. Still couldn't convince him that dancing was a profession." She sighed as she said that. "But at least we're talking about it rather than dismissing that. Baby steps."

"See? We didn't need to worry after all," John told Sherlock, giving his friend a smile.

"You were worried too?" Rose asked.

John nodded. "Yeah, I suppose I was." He laughed when she hurried over to him and gave him a hug. He returned it, squeezing her close before letting her go. "Tell us all about it, yeah?"

"Let me change first. I made it all through dinner, all three courses in fact, and didn't get anything on Molly's dress! I want to keep it that way," Rose said with a smile. She disappeared into Sherlock's bedroom and changed back into her casual clothing.

"You'll have to tell us later," Sherlock told her when she reemerged. "We're off to Albert Court. We've got a case!" He held up his phone. "Man stabbed to death, cryptic message written on the wall in blood. Brilliant!"

"Sounds seriously gross. Good luck with that," Rose replied. She watched the two men bundle up a bit against the chill in the air and followed them out onto the steps. "Be safe out there, alright? I expect you both to come home in one piece!"

Sherlock merely waved her off and hurried down the stairs, nearly running into Mrs. Hudson.

"Oh, Sherlock, I-"

"Not now, Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock replied, rushing out the door. John followed suit, leaving the elderly landlady standing in the entry way.

"Oh, Rose, hello dear. I'll have that lease ready for you in a few days," Mrs. Hudson stated, looking up at Rose.

"Sounds good," Rose responded. "I heard you trying to catch Sherlock. Is everything alright?" She headed down the steps, intending to make certain Mrs. Hudson was ok.

"Well, I had a package come for him earlier. He wasn't here and it just slipped my mind until I heard him on the stairs," Mrs. Hudson explained. "Would you take it up?"

Rose accepted the package from the landlady, looking it over. "This is rather creepy," she murmured, examining the address, written neatly in pen but bearing no name, and then the Baker Street address. It was clearly meant for Sherlock, but his name and address were cut out letters from magazines. "Looks sort of serial killer creepy. And it smells funny," Rose commented. "Does Sherlock get a lot of strange packages?"

"Oh a few here and there, usually connected to whatever he's working on at the moment," Mrs. Hudson confided. "That's why I tried to catch him; might be important."

"I think you're right. Albert Court is in Kensington, right?" When Mrs. Hudson confirmed it, Rose used her phone to look up the sender's address. "That's right across the street from where Sherlock was going. I bet it's related!" Rose gave the woman a smile. "I'm going to rush over and make sure he has it."

Heading back into the apartment, Rose threw on her coat, grabbed her wallet and haphazardly laced up her sneakers before running out of the building, frantically waving at the first cab she spotted. "Albert Court, Kensington. Please hurry," she instructed, sliding into the back seat.

Ten minutes later, Rose stopped the cab a block away from where several police cars were parked. "You probably won't be able to get closer, this is fine," she assured the driver. Exiting, she paid the fare and headed towards the building in question. It was surrounded by squad cars, crime scene tape, and part of the street was blocked off.

Rose carefully made her way towards the building, side-stepping any tape and watching to make sure she didn't disturb anything that could be evidence on the lawn. Strangely enough, none of the officers around their cars seemed to notice her at all. She was just about to the front door of the building, which was slightly ajar, and Rose could even see Sherlock through one of the windows. She grimaced, realizing that blood was spattered all over said window. "Gross."

She spotted movement out of the corner of her eye and froze for a moment. Was it the killer? Slowly Rose turned around, only to spot a smartly dressed women in a pair of impractical high heels. Must be a reporter, she thought. Then the woman began speaking in an obnoxious tone. "Excuse me! Hello? Excuse me!"

"Yes?" Rose answered. "I'm a bit busy now, and reporters probably shouldn't be this close to the building."

"This is a crime scene, you need to leave," Sally Donovan ordered. She didn't bother to identify herself to the young woman. "Leave immediately."

Rose frowned at her. "I'll be in and out real fast, not trying to steal your story or disturb anything, but I have something that might be relevant that I need to give to someone."

"This isn't a debate, get moving. Right now, off the property." Sally's tone was demanding, clearly expecting to be obeyed.

"I'm sorry, I can't. I'm with them," Rose responded, gesturing to the window. "And I need to give them something. I'll be on my way, I swear, but this could be important.

Sally let out an undignified snort. "Really, and just who are you with? The medical examiner or the detective inspector?"

"No, no, no. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," Rose corrected.

"And what are you to them, some kind of assistant?"

Rose shrugged. "Sorta."

"The freak doesn't have an assistant," Sally stated firmly.

Rose scowled darkly. "His name is Sherlock Holmes, and I'll thank you to use that name."

"What's it to you what I call him? He is a freak."

"He's my brother," Rose ground out, her temper rising.

"Sister? He's got a sister? Who in their right mind let that freak around children?" Sally asked.

Rose answered, by punching her in the gut. The woman doubled over and gasped for breath. "Don't say things like that about my brother," she told the woman sternly. "If you're done with your hissy now, I'll go inside." She turned to start up the front steps towards the entrance but was stopped in her tracks when the woman spoke again.

"And… you're… under arrest," Sally finally managed to get out.

"Under arrest?!" Rose exclaimed and turned around once more. Instead of receiving an answer, the other woman began manhandling her, attempting to get Rose's arms behind her back.

Having no idea at all who this woman was, Rose wasn't going to let some stranger decide to handcuff her! Having no intention to go along quietly with someone who might be the killer for all she knew, Rose fought to get away and the situation quickly spiraled out of control as Sally fought to subdue her and Rose fought to get away.

"I may be mistaken-" Anderson commented as he looked out the window from inside the crime scene.

"Aren't you _always_ mistaken?" Sherlock asked.

Anderson rolled his eyes, but ignored him. "I believe Sally is being assaulted."

"What?" Lestrade asked, crossing the room towards the window. "Anderson, what are you on about?"

Before Anderson could repeat himself, he jumped away from the window, pulling Lestrade along with him. Seconds later, two people fell through it, shattering glass all over the crime scene.

Seeing an opportunity to get Sally off of her, Rose had slammed against her with all of her might, and ended up putting Sally right through the window. Unfortunately, the woman had pulled her with equal momentum and both of them went through the window, hit the thick smears of blood on the floor below them and slid a few feet across the floor where they continued to struggle.

For a long moment, no one moved, including Lestrade who could only stare as he watched Sally essentially cat-fight a random teenager, proceeding to get the blood evidence all over themselves. Uncertain at first whether to attempt to save the crime scene or separate the women, he decided to separate them before they could ruin anymore evidence.

"Enough, that's enough!" Lestrade shouted. John hurried after him, finally hauling Sally away and onto her feet as Lestrade pulled Rose onto hers. Lestrade took one look at her and said, "I know you!" He turned to Sherlock and said, "This is your sister, isn't it? The one we were looking for that time and you led me to that big drug bust in a warehouse, right?"

"Oh my gosh, let's _not _talk about that," Rose snapped. "Sherlock, I have…" Her voice died out as she spotted the look on her brother's face. His mouth had become a grim line and his eyes were full of anger. She just knew he was struggling to keep from shouting at her in front of all these people and Rose suddenly wished very desperately that she could take back the last two or three minutes of her life. Sherlock was going to make her regret them very, very much, she could tell.

"She assaulted me, she's being arrested!" Sally shouted.

"Who is this lady?" Rose asked, gesturing with her head in Sally's direction. "I have something important I need to give Sherlock, it might be related to the case! She wouldn't let me in and then tried to arrest me and I never saw a badge or anything," she pointed out. "Lestrade, let _go _of me."

"You just completely contaminated this crime scene, destroyed evidence, and assaulted Sergeant Donovan," Lestrade told her. "Right now, you're under arrest. We'll sort this out in a bit when we're done here. Which sadly isn't likely to be all that long, thanks to you." He handcuffed Rose, who began looking frantically at both Sherlock and John, the color draining from her face.

"I didn't do anything! I didn't know! I was trying to help!" she shouted. "Sherlock, don't let him arrest me! Sherlock! John! Do something!"

It was John who spoke first. "Lestrade, I'm sure we can sort this out. Do you have to do that?"

Lestrade nodded. "I do. Like I said, we'll sort it all out later. For now, I'm having an officer take her in." He waved at one of the uniformed officers on the street, beckoning him inside. "Take her in, put her in my office. She doesn't have to stay handcuffed as long as you keep her in my office. Make certain her clothing is bagged. She's got evidence all over her," he instructed.

"John, go with her," Sherlock said quietly. "I'll be along shortly."

Rose kept quiet as she was escorted from the building and put into the back of a squad car. She may have been silent, but she was trembling and tears were running down her face.

"No, don't cry," John said as he got in beside her. "We'll sort it out. Lestrade's a good man, we'll sort it out. Are you scared?"

She nodded, beginning to sob, though she attempted to hide it from him.

"No need to be scared. I'm right here with you, I'll stay with you, and Sherlock will follow us soon." Now really wasn't the time to be scared, John thought to himself. She'd probably be better off saving the tears for when Sherlock got hold of her!

"Promise you'll stay?" Rose asked pitifully. "I don't want to go to jail, I wasn't trying to disturb anything I swear!"

"Promise. Come on, deep breaths. Try to relax," John urged. "Deep breaths. There you go. Again. One more. Good girl. We're almost there and I'll make sure someone helps you clean up, too." He was certain that having all that blood in her hair, on her clothing, and even smeared on her hands and face, wasn't helping matters.

John stayed by her side as promised while the officer led her to Lestrade's office. "I know you'll need to get the evidence, but can we get a female officer to help her and get the process moving?" he asked the officer. "I'm not interfering, I promise, but she's scared. My best friend's sister," John explained.

The officer agreed to find someone and left Rose and John standing in the office for a few moments before returning with a blanket and evidence bags. "This is Officer Gaines. She's going to take you to the ladies room to get out of your clothes. We need to collect them because you have evidence on you," the male officer explained to Rose. "I brought a blanket for you. She'll take you to get the rest of the stuff on you collected and cleaned off, then bring you back here."

Rose nodded, sighing in relief when the male office removed her handcuffs. "Are you coming?" she asked John. "Please?"

"Well, not in the ladies room," John said, looking a bit embarrassed. "But I could wait right outside and go with you to get your face and everything cleaned up. That alright?"

"Yeah, that's good. That's what I meant," she clarified.

"Try to walk very carefully, we don't want to lose any evidence," Officer Gaines instructed. "It's this way." She led Rose to the ladies room and helped her out of the clothing. Rose's jacket, jeans and sneakers were bagged one by one. "Your shirt too," the officer instructed. "I'll try to find you something better than the blanket when we're done."

With a sigh, Rose surrendered her shirt and even her socks, standing there in just her bra and panties before wrapping herself up in the blanket. "Good job," Gaines said encouragingly. "You're doing alright. Not the first person to come in covered in evidence," she admitted. "Let's get you cleaned off."

John gave Rose an encouraging smile when she emerged from the bathroom. "Good work love," he praised, trying to reassure her. "Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?"

He followed Rose and the officer and stood off to the side as Gaines and a forensic specialist worked to collect the blood evidence from her face, hands and hair. Once they had collected what they could, Rose was able to get washed up. It was such a relief to not have blood on her body anymore!

By the time Rose and John returned to Lestrade's office, both Sherlock and the detective inspector were waiting for them. "Guys, you couldn't find her something to put on?" Lestrade complained.

Sherlock immediately took off his coat, handing it to his sister. "Go put that on instead and come straight back."

Rose disappeared with the coat and returned a moment later, snuggly buttoned up tight. She was glad to have the coat, rather than the blanket, which had made her feel more exposed, even though everything was covered up. There was just something not right about running around in a blanket in public!

"Sit down," Lestrade instructed her, indicating a chair in front of his desk. He sat as well and watched her as she fidgeted in the chair, feeling quite sure the squirming under his stern gaze would do her some good. When three full minutes of silence had uncomfortably passed, he began talking.

"I have no idea what happened tonight," Lestrade began. "Other than I have a compromised crime scene and contaminated evidence, which makes my job of finding the killer much more difficult."

"Don't exaggerate, you contacted me after all. If you had been able to figure it out on your own, you wouldn't need me," Sherlock pointed out in an exasperated tone.

"Alright, alright. It makes the eventual court case much more difficult then," Lestrade amended. "And you're facing several charges of your own right now, for that whole debacle. So why don't you start explaining what happened."

Rose took a deep breath and began to recount the events. "Mrs. Hudson had a package for Sherlock, but he rushed out to come help you tonight and didn't get it from her. It was a really weird looking package and the return address on it was from right across the street. We thought it might be important, related to the case. Mrs. Hudson says that's happened before, Sherlock getting strange mail related to cases."

"And where is this package?" Lestrade asked.

"The inner pocket of my jacket, which is currently in a bag."

Lestrade called in an officer to go retrieve the envelope from the jacket and bring it back to him. In the meantime, Rose continued.

"So I got a cab and came right over. I was just going to go inside and give it to Sherlock and leave. Trust me, I want nothing to do with that nasty messy… stuff Sherlock helps you with," Rose assured them. "But when I was trying to go in, this woman stopped me before I could get up to the front door. She didn't tell me who she was, she wasn't dressed like an officer, she was just a bossy lady who wouldn't listen to what I was trying to tell her. I actually though she was reporter or something."

Lestrade sighed heavily. He really needed to talk to Sally about remembering to ID herself at crime scenes, particularly _before _she tried to arrest someone. "That was directed at Sally, not you," he admitted to Rose. "Go on."

"I told her I was with Sherlock and she said some very nasty things about him that I couldn't ignore. Just couldn't. He's my brother and I love him," Rose said firmly.

"I can imagine what she said," Lestrade admitted.

"So I punched her in the gut. And then she tried to get my hands behind my back and cuff me and I was all 'What the hell?' because I still didn't know who she was. I don't let just anyone handcuff me," she pointed out.

"Does that mean you allow _some _people to handcuff you?" Sherlock asked in a dangerous tone.

"Well, yes. If a police officer, that was properly identified or in uniform, tried to handcuff me, I wouldn't fight him or her. I didn't fight Lestrade, even though I didn't think I'd done anything wrong," Rose retorted. "I was scared, there's this strange woman trying to wrestle me and handcuff me, so I fought back! Then we fell in the window and you all know the rest." She shuddered, remembering all the blood she'd been covered in.

Lestrade ran a hand over his face and sighed as he attempted to find a way to sort this mess out. Just then the male officer returned with the package Rose had brought with her to the crime scene. "Does look a bit off," Lestrade admitted.

"Looks serial killer," Rose contradicted. "Not just a bit off."

"Well, let's get this open then." Lestrade put on a pair of gloves and carefully opened the package. Inside the envelope was an overabundance of pink glitter and a letter, also written with the cut out magazine letters like Sherlock's address had been. He scanned the letter quickly and then passed it to Sherlock. "This belongs to you. And is unrelated to the case."

"It is?" Rose asked, her eyes wide. Had she seriously just gone through all this mess and gotten herself into a world of trouble over something not related to the case? "But it's from a criminal, it has to be."

"No," Sherlock said dully. "It's a fan letter."

"Seriously?"

"Unfortunately," he assured her.

"You get fan letters with… glitter. Why?" Rose asked.

Lestrade supplied the answer while Sherlock mumbled something. "Your brother is quite famous these days. Mostly through helping us with some high profile cases and from John's blog about the investigations as well." He chuckled when she looked completely confused.

"You're some sort of celebrity now, and get fan letters? Like actors and everything?" she questioned.

"Unfortunately, yes," Sherlock confirmed. He hastily put the letter through the shredder in Lestrade's office.

"But it looked like a serial killer letter," Rose protested. "I can't believe you get fan mail that looks like it came from serial killers!"

An eyebrow quirked. "The words "serial killer" and "fan" are not linguistically exclusive of one another," Sherlock pointed out.

"And even when they don't look like something a murderer would send, there are still some very strange letters and packages that show up at Baker Street," John added. "You should read the fantasies in some of them about Sherlock and that hat."

Lestrade laughed so hard he made a snorting noise. "That I'd love to see!"

"Unfortunately for you, I shred the more pornographic ones," Sherlock muttered.

Rose turned wide eyes on her brother. "You get pornographic letters? Some of which are more pornographic than the others? Do you keep the lesser pornographic letters?"

He shrugged. "On occasion, when I suspect the sender is likely to commit a crime in the near future."

"That's just gross. I'm sorry, no offense, but that's gross. Women send pornographic letters to you that involve your hat. Consider my mind officially blown and _not _in a good way," Rose decided.

"Mind blown?" Sherlock repeated. "What does that even mean? That must be some sort of figure of speech, since that would be impossible; your brain is clearly still functioning. At least to a certain extent."

"Well, as much fun and games as this is, we've got some problems to sort out about you, young lady," Lestrade stated, ushering everyone back to the business at hand. "Why don't you step out while we have a chat about what to do with you."

Rose sighed and stood up to leave. "Please just keep in mind, I really wasn't trying to do anything wrong. I thought I had something important that would help Sherlock, otherwise I would have stayed home. I'm also really sorry for all the trouble I caused."

Sherlock nodded and waved his hand towards the door and the three men waited for her to leave.

"I think she's being truthful," John said. "She was terrified on the ride over here, just shaking. I felt awful for her."

Lestrade nodded. "I agree. Sally should have identified herself properly and this whole mess would have been avoided. Not all the blame can be laid on Rose, but she's not blameless either and there's a whole list of charges that could be brought against her. But I have an idea…"

It was nerve wracking, standing out there while knowing her fate was being discussed in that office. Was she going to jail? Would she be fined? More importantly, was Sherlock going to tell Mycroft? God, Rose hoped not. Though Sherlock hadn't looked pleased either, she was forced to admit.

After ten minutes of discussion, during which Rose rocked back and forth on her feet, overwhelmed by anxiety, Lestrade waved her back into his office. "You, Rosenwyn Holmes, are a lucky young lady," he began. "Sergeant Donovan will not be pressing charges against you for assaulting her. I will also not be pressing charges against you for tampering with evidence, destruction of property, or impeding a criminal investigation." Lestrade read each charge slowly, watching her squirm even more and blush a brilliant shade of red.

"These charges, however, are not being dropped without an exchange of sorts. I could use some help around here. Nothing terrible, just filing and picking up lunches or coffee orders, little things that I don't presently have someone to do for me," he explained. "Provided you are willing to donate one hundred and fifty hours of volunteer time, we will all forget this ever happened."

The relief was overwhelming. She wouldn't be going to jail! "That's very fair," Rose agreed. "Thank you so much. I was so scared." She took a deep breath, allowing herself to relax a bit.

Lestrade nodded. "Sherlock is a friend and a great help on my investigations, so I'm willing to do this for his sake." That and he doubted Sally wanted it made a part of her official record that she had her arse kicked by a mere slip of a teenager.

"And because I quite like the idea of a personal assistant. You're smart; you don't act like it, but you are. I think you'll learn a lot while volunteering, and I promise not to torture you _too _much. I'll expect you here, tomorrow, at 8am."

"Make it a bit later. Rose and I still need to discuss some things and it will go late," Sherlock commented.

Rose cringed. He said 'discuss' as in 'discussion' and she knew damn well that there would be very little talking, outside of scolding, during said 'discussion.' How she hated that stupid phrase of his! Though at least he hadn't said. 'I'm going to spank Rose when we get back to Baker Street and it's already quite late.' She was absolutely certain she would have died of embarrassment then and there in Lestrade's office.

"Noon then. But just for tomorrow! After that I'll expect you at 8am," Lestrade agreed

"Yes sir, I'll be here sir," Rose rushed to assure him. "You won't be disappointed, I'll do my very best to assist you in any way I can. And again, I'm _very _sorry for what happened."

Lestrade nodded once more, accepting her apology. "I'm officially releasing you into Sherlock's custody. Go home, rest up, tomorrow will be a busy day."

The walk out of the building was a silent one. Rose was nervous and her gut churned in response. Sherlock was going to murder her. Either that or he would turn her over to Mycroft, which would be an awful way to end the night after having some real conversations at dinner.

"Did you tell Mycroft?" Rose finally asked in a tiny voice.

"No, but I'm certain he is aware of it, or will be. He's always aware of things," Sherlock responded. "I have no intention of handing you off to him, if that is what you're asking. I'm more than capable of handling this evening's events and I can promise you- It. Will. Be. Handled."

Rose leaned her head back against the car seat and closed her eyes. Oh yes, she was in a _lot _of trouble.


	7. Action and Reaction

It was nearly midnight by the time the trio returned to Baker Street. Rose trudged up the stairs to the flat, feeling resigned to whatever was going to happen. Sherlock wouldn't hurt her, ever, but he could certainly make her life miserable; especially when it came to her ability to sit!

"Go shower and get ready for bed," Sherlock instructed her. "You have thirty minutes and then we need to have our discussion."

"Hate that phrase," Rose grumbled in response.

"Now is _not _the time to complain," Sherlock told her, giving her bottom a smack. "Go." He watched her go into the bathroom and then sat on the couch with a heavy sigh. "The very day I tell Mycroft 'well she'll be living next door, I'll take care of everything' _this _happens," he grumbled.

John chuckled. "No one plans in advance for what happened tonight. That was honestly one of the most bizarre evenings I think I've had since being discharged. Who knew you'd make my life so interesting?"

"You thought I would bore you?" Sherlock asked.

"No, no. You know what I mean, don't purposely be obtuse," John responded. "If you don't need me down here for anything, I think I'll head up and get some sleep."

Sherlock waved him off and leaned back against the couch as he tried to decide what to do with his sister. By the time she'd emerged from the shower and told him she was ready for bed, he had a plan in mind. "I'll be right in," he assured her. Before heading into his room to deal with her, Sherlock went into the kitchen first, looked through a few drawers and finally located a wooden spoon. This called for more than his hand and John had already gone to bed, so the hairbrush was out.

Rose was sitting on the bed when Sherlock entered the room, shutting the door behind him. As soon as she caught sight of the spoon, she let out a groan and flopped back on the bed.

"No," Sherlock said firmly. "None of that. You know you deserve this, no groans or complaints because I'm not interested."

She sat up and let out a sigh, half expecting him to tell her she couldn't sigh either. Thankfully, he didn't.

"We're going to have an actual talk before our discussion," Sherlock announced, taking a seat on the bed. "I'd like you to explain why you're being spanked." He wanted to make certain she knew precisely why before disciplining her.

"I made a very epic mess at the crime scene and made everyone's work a lot harder to catch the killer of that poor man whose blood was everywhere," Rose said, shuddering as she remembered all the blood.

"Yes, that's true," Sherlock agreed. "I am aware that destroying the crime scene wasn't done intentionally. I am much more concerned about the poor choices you made that enabled that fiasco to occur. What could you have done to avoid this?"

Rose looked thoughtful as she mulled over the night's events. "Other than just not leaving the flat I don't know," she admitted softly. "I'm not trying to be difficult, but I don't know what you're looking for."

"That's acceptable," he assured her. "You could have asked Sally to bring the package in. You could have text or called John or myself. You also had the option of approaching the uniformed officers in the street and asking one of them to bring it in. Those are the answers I wanted from you. Had you done any of those things, the crime scene would have remained intact. Unfortunately, you made no effort to stop and think of alternatives available to you, decided to brawl with Sally, and ultimately wreaked havoc."

She blushed brightly, having not thought about those alternatives at all. This night would have ended so much better had she done so. "You know I'm sorry though, right?" Rose asked softly. "I really do feel badly about how things ended up, and not just because I'm in trouble now."

Sherlock nodded. "I do. However, due to the ramifications of your lack of forethought this evening, you're in a significant amount of trouble. First, you'll be getting a spanking with my hand and then spend a bit of time reflecting in that corner." He paused, pointing to an empty corner in the room. "Then I will use this to finish up." This time he indicated the spoon.

"You are also officially grounded to this flat for one week, with the exception of your volunteer hours for Lestrade and any preparations for moving that need to be done with Mycroft. You will go in to volunteer and come immediately home. It should go without saying that I expect you to exhibit exemplary behavior," Sherlock added. "If you need to begin packing your things, you will alert either myself or John and there will be no dallying anywhere else."

Rose bit her lip to keep from groaning again. Instead, she silently hoped he was finished. Of course, he wasn't.

"You will be spanked before bed while you are grounded, to encourage you to think things through. Your behavior during the day will influence how enthusiastic the spanking is," Sherlock warned. "Is any of this unclear to you, Rosenwyn?"

"No, it's not unclear," Rose admitted. "But isn't it a bit of overkill? Can we negotiate?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Need I remind you that you were arrested tonight, in addition to destroying the crime scene? And nearly faced charges for all the damage you caused? It is not "overkill." Anything else you'd like to say?"

"No, that's it," she replied with a sigh.

Without a word, Sherlock pulled her closer to him and hugged her tightly. "I love you," he whispered in her ear. "I'm very certain we won't ever have a repeat of this nonsense."

"I love you too," Rose assured him, returning the hug. "Hold me for just a minute, ok?"

Kissing the top of her head, Sherlock murmured in the affirmative and cuddled her for several minutes before letting her go. "It's time to move on to the implementation phase," he decided. "It's getting very late. Pajama bottoms down and over my knee."

Rose stood up and pushed her pajama pants down to her knees before bending over Sherlock's lap. Her panties were pulled down and he wrapped an arm around her waist. The spoon was toss off to the side, at least for the moment, and then Sherlock's right hand came down sharply across the middle of her bottom.

Rather than pepper her bottom with random swats and eventually cover the area completely with firm smacks, Sherlock adopted a different strategy. He began spanking her right cheek, swatting it repeatedly from crest to sit spots until it was blushing pink. Moving on to the left cheek, he repeated the process until that side was also becoming pink. Then it was back to the right side to start over again.

By the time he had returned to the right side for a second time, Rose was beginning to squirm over his lap and let out little noises of discontent. She would be significantly more discontent by the time he was finished, Sherlock reflected.

As he returned to the right side for a third time, Rose began to kick and cry. "Sherlock! Please! Owww! Stop, stop!" she pleaded. A firm "No," was the only verbal response she received. The heat in her backside grew to an intolerable level and the stinging was becoming more and more intense, making it practically impossible for her to keep even reasonably still.

Just when Rose was sure he'd never stop, Sherlock did just that. Her cheeks and sit spots were bright red, sore and radiating heat. Carefully he pulled her panties and pajama bottoms back up and helped her off his lap. Immediately he stood up and hugged her tightly, letting her cry against his chest.

"You're alright," Sherlock tried to soothe her. "It'll be alright. Cry as much as you need too." One hand rubbed up and down her back, encouraging her to calm down a bit. While she still had corner time to complete before he could finish entirely, Sherlock had no intention of making her do so until she'd received some comfort.

When her tears were more under control, he kissed the top of her head and hugged her even tighter before saying, "Corner time now. Nose right in the corner, no talking and no rubbing."

Rose made a whining sound in response but did as she was told, walking over to the corner he'd indicated and putting her nose right in it.

Ten minutes ought to be enough, Sherlock thought. He sat on the bed once more and waited as the minutes ticked slowly by. Picking up the spoon, he weighed it in his hand, debating how severe to be with it. Finally the time came and he called her out of the corner.

"Time to finish up. Back here, over my knee," Sherlock instructed. He watched her wipe a hand across her face before coming to him and pushing down her pajama bottoms once more before going across his knee.

"Will you be able to keep your hands out of the way?" Sherlock asked gently as he bared her bottom once more. "I don't want to smack them with the spoon by mistake."

"Not sure," Rose admitted.

"Do you want me to hold your right hand then?"

She nodded and put her hand back. Sherlock took it, squeezed it encouragingly, and held it against her side.

Seconds later he began spanking her once more, this time with the spoon. "Owwww! No no no!" Rose called out, squirming right from the start. "Sherlock please!"

Her brother didn't respond, focusing instead on the task at hand. The spoon left pink oval marks in its wake as he peppered her sit spots and upper thighs with sharp smacks, and her cheeks were given some attention. Sherlock planned to give her a few dozen, but when Rose began sobbing after sixteen hearty smacks, he couldn't bring himself to keep going.

Tossing the spoon in the direction of the bedroom door, Sherlock once more fixed her clothing and then helped her up from his lap. This time, he settled her on his lap and did his best to keep pressure of her bottom as he hugged her tightly. "Good girl, brave girl," he praised, beginning to rock her slightly. "All over now, and you did so well. I love you Rose." He continued to speak soothingly to her, even if she couldn't hear him over her tears.

Rose pressed her face against his shoulder and continued to sob, the sound of it like a knife to his chest. How he hated being the one to make her cry! Eventually his soothing ministrations worked and Rose calmed down, her tears becoming sniffles.

"You look so tired," Sherlock murmured. "I bought you a present earlier." He pointed across the room and Rose followed his gaze, seeing a lie-low all set up for her.

"I like your bed better," Rose said, giving him a tiny smile.

"That's unfortunate," he teased.

"Don't let me go yet, please?" She looked up at him, her eyes begging him to hold onto her for longer.

"No, I'm not going anywhere," Sherlock hurried to assure her. "I'll tuck you in when you fall asleep. For now, just try to relax and close your eyes."

Rose closed her eyes and let his gentle rocking soothe her even more and before long, she was fast asleep in his arms. Sherlock kept hold of her for several minutes after that, making sure she was asleep before finally getting up to tuck her in, before falling into his own bed.

She slept soundly through the night on the lie-low and likely would have slept for some time if a knock on the door hadn't woke her up.

"Whaaaat?" she groaned sleepily.

The door opened to reveal John. "You should get up. I've got breakfast for you in the kitchen."

Rose only murmured in reply, but did get up and grab Sherlock's dressing robe before making her way to the kitchen.

"How are you?" John asked, concern evident on his face.

"Sleepy."

He laughed. "I can see that. Not quite what I meant though."

She stuck her tongue out at him. "I'm not sitting to eat. Does that answer your question?"

John nodded and began filling a plate for her. "It does; about what I suspected. Will you live?"

"Yes, mores the pity," Rose said, reaching back to rub her sore bottom. "It'll be a long day though."

John put her plate on the kitchen island and kissed the top of her head. It was nice having someone shorter than he was around! "You'll pull through, you're a brave girl. I've some arnica cream I'll let you use later on. Doctor's orders; Sherlock can live with it."

Rose giggled and rewarded him with a bright smile. "You know, you're very loyal very quickly John Watson. But speaking of my brother, where is he?"

"St. Bart's. Molly got in some more bodies for him to play with," John said. "I was told to remind you that you're grounded, so come straight back after Lestrade sets you free for the day, yeah?"

She shook her head. "I'll have to pop into a store first; I no longer own a jacket. Don't think I want it back when they're done with it either."

John frowned. "No, you'd best come straight back. I'll take you after, or Sherlock if he's done."

"That's really silly; come all the way back on the tube, just to go out again to an area I just left to get a jacket? Silly," Rose declared.

"I'll be stern with you if I have to be, miss. Come right back and one of us will take you. If you don't, I'll be very displeased," John warned. "You get yourself in enough trouble as it is; give yourself a break and do what I say, alright?"

Rose sighed but nodded. "Jawohl, herr Kommandant," she agreed with a little sass, adding a salute.

"Captain," John corrected with a chuckle. "And you're incorrigible. Now eat up, I need to send you on your way shortly and then get to the surgery for my shift."

At ten minutes to noon Rose knocked softly on Lestrade's office door and entered the office when he waved for her to do so.

"Well, well, look at you!" Lestrade said with a smile. "Miss Rosenwyn, not just on time but ten minutes early. I'm impressed."

"Rose, please," she said, shaking her head. "No one calls me Rosenwyn unless I'm in trouble."

Lestrade chuckled. "Alright, Rose it is. And since you don't officially work for me, you can call me Lestrade, or Greg, whichever you prefer. Now, how long can I keep you? Are you due back at any special time?"

"No, just whenever you set me free for the day," Rose responded.

Lestrade nodded. "Perfect. I've got a big stack of paperwork for you to type up, and we'll see how that goes. There's even a desk for you to work at." He gestured to the empty desk just outside his office. Rose sat down very gingerly at the desk, her eyes going wide when he plopped the papers down on the desk.

"Now these are pretty straightforward. Each document becomes a separate Word doc that you'll print and bring to me." Lestrade pointed out the printer and continued. "Anything that's stapled together, keep it all in the same Word doc. Save all the docs on this flash drive. Let me know if you have any questions, alright?"

Rose nodded, taking a deep breath. "I will."

"I'll be in my office then." He gave her a smile and went back to sit at his desk and do some of his own paperwork. Lestrade kept a good eye on her as she worked, and couldn't help noticing her inability to sit still for any length of time and the way she eased herself oh-so-gently onto the chair after each time she'd been up.

"Rose, come in here a minute and bring the ones you've printed with you," he finally called, waving her in. "Shut the door behind you as well."

She got up quickly and hurried into the office, handing over the printed documents. "Did I do something wrong already? I've been so careful," Rose commented, her tone filled with worry.

"You're doing just fine," Lestrade assured her with a smile. "Good, quiet worker, nice attention to detail." He cleared his throat before continuing. "Was Sherlock pretty hard on you last night?"

Rose blushed bright red and fell silent.

Lestrade took her silence as a confirmation of his question and didn't want to embarrass her further by asking anything else. "Alright, I'm going to switch it up a bit. I think those can wait until tomorrow or another day. I've got some filing I need done in here that I'll have you do instead, alright? Bring me the flash drive and the ones you haven't finished first," he instructed.

She went back out to the desk, ejected the flash drive and carried it and the stack of papers back into his office. Lestrade promptly dumped them in a box and shoved it under his desk, pulling out a different box. "These need to be put in alphabetical order in the file cabinets. A's start at this one," Lestrade pointed to the one furthest away from the desk. "And work their way around. I've got a couple more boxes full too. You'll have to stand for a while to do this; that alright?"

Rose flashed him a smile. "Oh, very much so. Thanks."

"Alright, back to work with you then." Lestrade waved her in the direction of the cabinet and returned to his paperwork once more.

The afternoon passed fairly quickly as Rose worked on adding the files into the cabinets. Every so often she found some out of place and re-alphabetized what was already in the cabinet before adding anything new. She worked quietly and efficiently, finishing the entire first box just after 4pm.

"Nice work," Lestrade complimented her. "Time for coffee though; I'm sending you off down the block to get it. The stuff here is borderline disgusting on a good day," he admitted. Giving her his order, he handed over a ten pound note.

Rose frowned a bit. "I know my way around coffee drinks, and I don't think yours will be more than four pounds at the very most. Do you have something smaller, or do you need the change?"

"Ten pounds will buy yours and mine," Lestrade told her. "I reward hard workers, so get yourself whatever you'd like, on me.

"Wow! Thank you. You're sure? Alright, don't frown at me," Rose laughed. "I'll be back as quick as I can." Exiting his office, she asked if anyone else wanted something and left with four additional orders to fill. The shop was easy to find and they had the drinks ready fairly quickly and provided her with drink trays to make carrying everything easier.

"Coffee's up!" she called on her return. "Everyone's cup has a name." The drink trays were place on someone's desk and the officers lined up to collect them, while Rose brought her own and Lestrade's into his office.

"Perfect," Lestrade murmured after taking a drink. "If you're not too tired, I think I'll keep you until six. I'm going to keep track of what days you come in and how many hours you're working.

"Six is fine," she assured him. "I'll get back to that filing. Thanks for the drink." Rose returned to work, and had finished another half of a box by the time six rolled around.

"Alright, I've had enough for the day. We should get out of here before someone gets killed and I have to stay late," Lestrade announced. "Need a ride back to Baker Street at all?"

"That's a nice offer, but no thanks. I've got some errands to run, so I'll take the tube back. I need a new jacket since you took mine," Rose admitted. "This one is a spare John loaned me and it's just too army looking for me."

Lestrade nodded. "Alright then, off you go. I'll see you at 8 tomorrow."

"I'll be here," she promised. "Have a good night!" Rose headed out of the building and walked down the street, debating on whether or not she should just take the tube home like she was supposed to, or stop in somewhere and replace what had been kept as evidence. Then a different idea came to her.

'Can I go to Mycroft's and pick up some clothes?'

'No. SH'

'I need clothes!'

'You're grounded from the world. SH'

'From the world? What does that even mean?'

'It is an emphatic no. SH'

Rose growled and decided to text Mycroft. 'I need clothes and Sherlock has grounded me from the world.'

'The world is sighing in relief. M'

'You can't see it, but I'm sticking my tongue out at you right now.'

'I really need to come get clothes from your house.'

'I'll pack some up for you and drop them off. M'

'That's a bad idea. Really bad in fact.'

'Why? M'

'I'd rather not say…'

'Should I be frightened? M'

'Possibly. Coming over. Sherlock can't ground me from the entire world.'

Mycroft rolled his eyes and decided to extricate himself from Rose's dramatics. After last night, she was lucky Sherlock hadn't hired a minder for her!

'She's coming to collect clothing. M'

'I'm going to horribly murder her. But let her get what she wants. SH'

'I'm just thrilled she wears clothing in public, unlike you. M'

'You're never going to let that Buckingham Palace incident go, are you? SH'

'Highly unlikely. M'

As her brothers texted back and forth the girl in question took the tube to the station near Mycroft's house. Walking the few blocks from the station, the large house came into view, taking her breath away for a moment. She hadn't been here in a long time. Was the security code still the same? Just as she was attempting to disarm the system, the front door opened.

"Sherlock knows you're here, by the way," Mycroft stated. "But come in and get some clothing for yourself. What are you hiding in your room?"

Rose rolled her eyes and hurried up the stairs. "Nothing of great importance. A girl needs privacy though." She promptly slammed her bedroom room in his face and gathered up her clothing, including the more revealing items and undergarments that would have given Mycroft a heart attack had he discovered them.

After stuffing as much as she could into two empty boxes, Rose opened the bedroom door and found Mycroft standing just outside it.

"Just to set my mind at ease- are you alright after last night?" Mycroft asked, handing her some packing tape.

"Is that a polite way of asking if Sherlock attempted to murder me?" Rose asked. "I'm alright. Sherlock was… displeased. But I wasn't injured by the whole scuffle. Though I can't say I wasn't pleased when I found out that Sally Donovan was put on paid leave."

Mycroft smirked at her.

"That was you?" She asked, her eyes wide. "Lord, you really _are _running Britain, aren't you? That's slightly frightening, but reassuring at the same time. But thanks for that, makes my volunteer time much easier. I should be off."

"You cannot carry those large boxes yourself and take them on the tube. Let me drive you back," Mycroft offered.

Rose smiled and eagerly agreed, relieved she wouldn't have to try to juggle those boxes alone. She chatted with Mycroft a bit about what she'd been doing for Lestrade that day, passing the ten minute drive pleasantly.

"I've got them, no worries. Thanks for the ride!" Rose gave him a wave before hefting the boxes into the building. She didn't get far into the building before she ran into something, unable to see very well thanks to the boxes. Only it turned out not to be a something, but rather a someone, who took the boxes right out of her hands.

John placed them on the floor and pushed them off to the side before standing up to his full height, crossing his arms over his chest, and stared her down.

Rose gulped. "You're home early," she said carefully. "I thought you were at surgery until eight."

"And you were counting on that, clearly," John said sternly. "You were told to come straight back here after Lestrade dismissed you for the day, by Sherlock and by me."

"I needed clothes and Sherlock was uncooperative," Rose replied quietly.

"I told you this morning that if you came right home, I'd take you to get some things, didn't I?"

"Yes… but-"

"No, miss. No buts, except the one that's about to get smacked." John pointed up the stairs to their flat. "Get upstairs now; I'll bring the boxes."

Rose scowled darkly, putting her hands on her hips. "No, John. You can't do that."

"Oh yes, I can and will. You'd best start cooperating. Last chance to go up the stairs on your own," John warned.

"You wouldn't dare!"


	8. The Dangers of Crossing John Watson

John shrugged. "Don't say I never gave you fair warning." He reached out and took Rose by the ear and began going back upstairs, forcing her to follow.

"Ow! Ow!" Rose yelped. "The ear is delicate, stop that. Ow, please!"

Despite what John was sure were very heartfelt protests, he refused to release his hold on her ear, using it to guide her into the flat and directly over to the couch. Releasing her ear, he sat down, and gave her a pointed look. "You deliberately disobeyed me. I was very clear this morning about what was expected of you; volunteer and come home, go nowhere else. And you chose to defy me and that, young lady, I will _not _stand for."

His tone was all Captain Watson now, not the soft-spoken John she'd come to know. This man meant business and Rose knew it as she stood there beside him, rubbing her abused ear.

"Over my lap immediately miss. We're taking care of this right here and right now." John looked at her expectantly and managed to hide his surprise when Rose did precisely what he said, leaning across knees.

"When I tell you to do something, you are expected to do it. Do you understand me?" John held on to her firmly, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"Yes, yes, I do, I promise!" Rose answered quickly. "Please don't, I'm so sorry! Don't John, please!" Her right hand went back to try and shield her bottom from any forthcoming smacks but John easily caught it and held it to the small of her back.

Despite his firm hold, Rose was squirming and wriggling already and he hadn't even begun to spank her. All her efforts gained her was making her skirt ride up ever closer to her backside. John pushed it up and away from his target, raised his hand, and brought it down with a resounding smack across her backside.

Rose gasped, going still for a moment, until he swatted her again and she resumed her squirming. "Oww! Not so hard! Ow! I'm so sore, ow ow ow!" Three smacks fell in quick succession, one on top of the other. "Pleeeeeeease! I'll be good, I swear!"

Already John could hear the strain in her voice but he forced himself to ignore that. He continued to soundly spank her cheeks, sit spots, and even gave her upper thighs a few good swats, causing Rose to let out a howl of protest.

It was at just that moment Sherlock walked into 221B. His eyes grew wide for a moment at the sight of his sister, upended over John's lap, having her bottom soundly spanked. "I've missed something, haven't I?" That happened so rarely that he was quite taken aback by the realization that _he_ hadn't deduced this concept prior to its occurrence.

"Bit busy here, Sherlock," John pointed out, continuing to spank.

"Sherlock! Make him stop!" Rose shouted at her brother. "Please!"

"I have no idea what you did, but I'm certain John is being quite fair," Sherlock said casually as he made his way into the kitchen. Certain they would all need some coffee shortly, he stared a pot of it.

John continued to spank, while Rose continued to cry and plead, until he could tell her cheeks were brightly red, even through her panties. After a few last hearty smacks to her sit spots, he stopped and released her hand.

Sobbing brokenheartedly, Rose pushed herself up from his lap and practically ran into Sherlock's room, slamming the door behind her. John let out a quiet sigh as he watched her go, before turning his attention to Sherlock. "Look, I'm sorry if I went over the line. I'm not even quite sure where all that came from," John admitted.

"I'm not concerned," Sherlock responded, entering the sitting room. "Rose has that effect on just about everyone."

The bedroom door opened and a pillow was tossed at Sherlock; it missed.

"Do you think I was too hard on her?"

Sherlock shook his head. "But you're not done, are you?"

John gave him a quizzical look. "I'm quite sure her poor bottom couldn't take anymore. In fact, I'm going to insist she use some arnica cream when she calms down. You can't seriously be suggesting I go in there and spank her _more_."

"John," Sherlock responded with a great sigh. It was a sigh that clearly indicated John was, once again, not following. "Of course not, but you have to do the after bit now."

"After bit?"

Sherlock nodded. "Hug her, rub her back, tell her she was very brave and that everything is forgiven, dry her face. The _after _things."

John looked thoughtful. "Will she let me comfort her?"

"I've never known her to turn it away and I'm not entirely certain she'll ever look at you the same way again if you don't at least try," Sherlock responded quietly.

"Right," John agreed. Taking a deep breath he went to knock on Sherlock's bedroom door. He received no response and waited just a moment before entering anyway. Rose was curled up on her side, hugging a pillow, sobbing; the sight of it was like a punch in the gut and John hurried across the room.

"Oh love," he murmured, kneeling beside the bed. John reached out gently to stroke her hair with one hand and wrapping his other arm around her in an awkward sort of hug. "Shhhh," he soothed. "It'll be alright. You'll be alright Rose, I promise. You were very, very brave. I'm so proud of you for that." When she continued to cry, John felt an overwhelming sense of guilt and doubt. Had he been too hard on her? Had he injured her?

"Rose, love, I didn't injure you did I?" He was immensely relieved when she shook her head no. "Good. I would never intentionally do that, I hope you know that. That's not the sort of person I am."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Rose repeated several times through her tears.

Despite her assurance that she wasn't injured, John's doctoring instincts weren't entirely convinced. "On your stomach love, roll over," John instructed. "I want to make sure you aren't hurt and I'll even make it feel a bit better if you let me check."

She put up no fight at all and rolled from her side onto her stomach without so much as a word, which only made him even more worried. He'd never spanked anyone before, and he was starting to think he really had done too much.

John flipped her skirt up, cringing at how red her bottom looked even through her panties. "I'm going to take these down now. I'll be as gentle as I can," he assured Rose. Moving slowly and carefully, John pulled her panties down and out of the way, unable to hide a wince as he did so.

"Oh love, you're about spanked out, aren't you?" he murmured, not really expecting an answer.

"Sherlock's going to spank me later," Rose replied through her tears. The thought of yet another spanking was very depressing, considering how much her bum hurt at that moment.

"Oh no he's not," John said firmly. "You've had enough for one day and I'll set him straight on that."

Rose finally turned her head to look at him. "What if he doesn't listen?"

"Then he'll have Captain Watson to deal with." John gave her a wink and grinned for a moment. It pleased him to no end when she managed to give him a little smile in return. "I'm going to fix you up and then we're having a cuddle. You were such a brave girl, do you know that?" He leaned over and kissed her forehead. "I'll be right back."

Leaving her bedside, John briefly exited the bedroom to locate Sherlock. "Get my kit, will you? She's going to bruise, and badly, if I don't do something. Fix an ice pack as well."

Sherlock stared at him for a moment, looking absolutely horrified.

"It's only to be expected," John admitted. "After last night and today, it's not surprising at all. She'll be just fine Sherlock, promise. But I don't think I could live with myself if I didn't do something to ease it."

"Ah. First do no harm," Sherlock murmured.

"That and her tears are breaking my heart right now," John admitted. "I don't know how you manage to do this, I really don't. Go get the kit and bring it in please, and then make the ice pack." As Sherlock headed upstairs, John returned to the bedroom and knelt down by Rose once more.

"Let it all out love," John encouraged her quietly. "Cry as much as you need to. I'm right here and I won't let you go." He kissed the top of her head before stroking her hair gently once more. "You'll be alright, I promise. You're a good girl, I know it love. A good, brave girl."

Sherlock arrived with the kit a moment later and John located the arnica cream. "This cream is going to keep you from bruising too much and it should help all around," he explained to Rose. "I'll be as gentle as I can putting this on. Are you ready?"

When she nodded, he began to rub the cream on her sore bum, doing his best to be gentle about it. Still, she whimpered and squirmed and John felt like such a jerk for spanking her, even if she had deserved it. "Alright, that's done. You were very brave," he praised, putting the cream away. "Let me wash my hands, I'll be just a second."

By the time John returned, Rose had returned her clothing to its appropriate place and he wasted no time picking her up, ignoring the strain on his shoulder. He sat on the bed, leaned against the headboard, and settled Rose against him, wrapping his arms around her as tight as he dared. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when Rose responded by snuggling close and resting her head against his chest.

The cuddling was quite effective and Rose's tears gradually disappeared. "That's my good girl," he praised. "Feeling better now? Sherlock's going to make an ice pack for you."

"I don't think I like Captain Watson," she murmured. "I like just John better."

John chuckled and squeezed her tight. "Be good and I won't have to have that tone again, yeah?"

"You're good at this," she decided. "It's making it difficult to be mad at you. I should be, but I just can't manage it."

John blushed a bit at her compliment. "You don't look very mad. I'm not even sure it's possible for a person to be mad while having a cuddle."

"It's difficult, but I'm trying," Rose quipped, sounding anything but upset with him. "I am not going to have fun volunteering tomorrow. I might have to bribe Lestrade."

"I'll put more cream on in the morning for you," he offered. "If I let you go by yourself there and back, will you come home like you should?"

"I don't have any reason not to now. I have clothes," Rose pointed out. "Or I did. Where did those boxes end up?"

John laughed. "Not quite the answer I was looking for, but I'll take it all the same. I'll make sure Sherlock brings them up."

A knock at the door caused both of them to look up as Sherlock opened the door. "Ice pack," he said, holding it up.

"Alright, on your stomach again," John instructed Rose. He was surprised to be slightly reluctant at letting go of her.

Rose complied, extricating herself from John's arms to lie down on the bed, wincing as Sherlock placed the ice pack on her bottom. He sat down beside her and rubbed her back. "Will you live to misbehave another day?" he teased.

"Yes, unfortunately for you," she retorted. "And this is all your fault you know."

"Oh really?" Sherlock asked, an eyebrow raised. "Do tell, sister dear."

"You grounded me from the world and I needed clothing."

John burst out laughing. "You grounded her from the _world_? What does that even mean?"

"That's what I said," Rose giggled.

"It means she's confined to just plaguing us and Lestrade with her presence for another six days," Sherlock said. "And you're lucky John got hold of you before I did." He leaned over to kiss the back of her head, lessening the lightly scolding tone. "I told you not to go to Mycroft's."

Rose rolled her eyes. "I get it, I get it. So sorry I didn't want to be naked. Besides, you couldn't have gotten angry with me for that anyway."

Sherlock let out a huff of disbelief. "Oh do tell, Rose. Explain this logic of yours."

"You said I was grounded with the exception of preparations for moving in next door," she began. "And today, at Mycroft's, I prepared for moving. I took items from my old bedroom, put them in previously empty boxes, and sealed them with _packing _tape. Therefore, I was packing, which was an allowed activity per your own specifications."

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "That was an unintentional loop hole," Sherlock grumbled.

"She's got you there," John laughed. "That doesn't happen often; let me savor this moment. I might even want to mark it on the calendar so we can celebrate it yearly."

"Oh, I like that! Let's do it," Rose agreed with a bright grin.

"Oh _do _shut up John," Sherlock replied indignantly.

The following morning, Rose walked into Lestrade's office carrying two coffees from down the block. "Early again, nicely done. One of those for me?" Lestrade asked, giving her a grin.

"Yes," she confirmed. "But it's not a gift, it's a bribe."

Lestrade laughed, shaking his head. "You do know it's illegal to bribe law enforcement officers, yeah?"

"Yes and no," Rose told him. "Yes, it is illegal, but only in certain instances. I cannot bribe you in exchange for privileges in prison, as a way to evade charges, or in any function that may give me something of value in relation to criminal activity. But, lucky for you, I'm quite innocent of any wrong doing. Today, anyway."

"So far?"

"That's _very _unkind Greg," Rose said, unable to stop from laughing. "I will give you this very lovely drink, which I know you like very much, in exchange for not making me sit down today. At all. For any reason."

"Done." He reached for the drink. "Going to tell me why? I thought you had resolved to behave yourself for a bit."

Her face flushed. "John and I had a disagreement yesterday. It ended badly... for me."

Lestrade leaned back in his chair, grinning. "Really now! Didn't see that one coming," he admitted. "That explains why John sent me a text this morning, asking me to make certain you're escorted home this evening. I was wondering about that."

"You look far too interested in this for my liking, Detective Inspector," Rose retorted, raising her chin defiantly. "There seems to be a collective of people forming that delight in the trials and tribulations of my life."

"Now, now, don't get defensive," Lestrade said, holding his hands up in surrender. "Just remember, I'm the one that you just asked not to make you sit down today. I could change my mind you know." He was teasing, just to see what she'd say.

He wasn't disappointed. Rose looked outraged and said "I bought you coffee! You wouldn't! No, wait, wait, don't say anything. I take that back. I don't think I'm going to say things like that anymore, it never ends well."

Lestrade laughed again, shaking his head. "Those are very famous last words. That what you said last night?"

"Yes. John did indeed dare. I was not pleased," Rose grumbled.

"I'll put in a good word for you before I send you home today," Lestrade promised. "On with the filing, if you would be so kind."

She promptly stuck her tongue out at him before getting to work.

'Why are you in a police vehicle? M'

'Hello to you too. Getting a ride home from volunteering.'

'Just checking. M'

'I actually can manage to go an entire day without causing trouble, you know.'

'Please do let me know when that occurs. I'll arrange for medical personnel to be standing by. M'

'What?'

'To restart my heart so I don't die from the shock of it. M'

'I never should have given you my mobile number.'

'I would have gotten it anyway. Hardly a challenge. M'

'Don't be creepy Mycroft. Alert the cavalry, I'm home now.'

Several hours later Sherlock and John trudged back to Baker Street, completely exhausted. Sherlock had managed to find a lead on Lestrade's case, despite the issues with the evidence, and the two had staked out a club where their suspect was due to work that evening. Unfortunately, they looked so out of place that the suspect, already rather high-strung, was immediately suspicious and fled on foot. They pursued, running around London for the better part of an hour before managing to get their hands on the suspect and subdue him. Or rather, John subdued and Sherlock called Lestrade.

"You know, we should bring Rose if we ever do that again," John pointed out as they headed towards their building. "She wouldn't have looked out of place at all and could've been our eyes and ears."

Sherlock scowled and held the door open. "That's a horrible suggestion. She could be hurt. Or become intoxicated. Or someone might make a "pass" at her and then I would be forced to disembowel said person. That gets messy."

"Did you ever use that GPS on her mobile to see if she stayed home?" John asked curiously.

"No need. I trust her. Besides, she doesn't want Captain Watson around again," Sherlock replied with a smug look on his face.

John laughed and headed up the stairs. Sure enough, Rose was on the couch, curled up under a blanket, reading.

"A note about the severed hands in the fridge would have been nice," she complained to Sherlock.

"What did you do with them?"

"They're in a crisper tray. Its disgusting Sherlock. I can't wait to have my own fridge!"

Sherlock smirked. "More storage space for experiments."

"Not a chance," Rose retorted. "Anything gross in my fridge will get tossed. And I mean at you, not in the garbage."

"Hmm," Sherlock replied. He went straight to the fridge, assessing the state of the severed hands. "There's a dish in here."

"Did you cook?" John asked.

"Yes, you beastly boys. Slave away making lasagna for you and don't even bother to come home. Or text. Why am I the only one who has to account for her whereabouts in this… Whatever it is?" Rose asked seriously.

"Because you're the only one grounded from the world, that's why," Sherlock quipped.

"And we're very proud of you for coming right home," John added with a smile.

"Yes, because it was so uncertain that I would make it. I only had a ride from Lestrade after all, that you requested for me." She stuck her tongue out at John, who merely responded by kissing the top of her head.

"No! No! Back in the crisper Sherlock! Or just toss them out. That's so disgusting," Rose yelled.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock did as she asked. "Hard to believe we're related, given how squeamish you are. No sense of adventure. Or appreciation of science.

"If all body parts are out of the fridge, or at least out of sight, I'll warm up some food for you both," Rose offered.

"Now that's what _I _appreciate," John said. "Warm food."

For all his complaining of her squeamishness, Sherlock hugged Rose close when she entered the kitchen. "Don't forget we're having a discussion this evening."

"No food for you," Rose immediately responded.

"Go easy on her Sherlock, I mean it." John warned firmly.

"Better behave Sherlock, or Captain Watson will get you," she snickered.

"No, Captain Watson is reserved for incorrigible brats such as you. And do not worry yourself John, I'll take care," Sherlock promised.

"Is this really going to become a joke now, my rank? I'm not sure I appreciate that," John said, shaking his head.

"We need all the weapons we can against the level of mischief she gets up to," Sherlock replied with a straight face. "Ow!"

Rose smirked. "So sorry, didn't mean to pinch you. Now, you two eat, I'm going to shower and get ready for bed since you've both returned safely." She kissed Sherlock's cheek before exiting the kitchen.

When Sherlock knocked on the bedroom door a short time later, Rose was curled up in his bed with the book she'd been reading earlier. He sat down beside her and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "How are you?"

"How am I or how is my arse?" Rose asked seriously.

"The later."

"Hardly any bruising at all, just a couple teeny tiny ones. John's cream works miracles. Still hurts though," Rose admitted, blushing. "I hate this. You know that, right? I hate it when I… when I…"

"When you misbehave to such an extent that you require significant punishment?" Sherlock filled in. When she nodded, he wrapped his arms around her. "You understand it is not a reflection on your character, correct? You _are _a good person, you do many things just as you should, but you still make some unfortunate choices or neglect to think things through. That's rather symptomatic of your age."

"I know," Rose confirmed. "But that never makes this any easier. It's really, really hard to do this part."

Sherlock nodded. "I know. But you're not alone and you are very much loved." He held her in silence for a few moments before speaking again. "We should finish this, Rosie. You've got an early morning after all." He chuckled when she made a whining noise. "Trust me. Please."

Rose nodded and stood up, waiting while Sherlock repositioned himself on the bed. Once he was finished, she bent over his lap and felt his arm around her waist. She expected her bottom to be bared, but it wasn't.

Intent on not hurting her, but also intending to follow through on what he had said, Sherlock took a deep breath and raised his right hand, bringing it down lightly on her right cheek. He cringed when she yelped; she must be very, very sore still. He lightly smacked her left cheek and Rose squirmed.

"I cannot do this," he said. "Up, I cannot do this right now." Sherlock helped her up from his lap, not at all surprised by the confused look on her face.

"Normally I would not even consider renegotiating a punishment, but I think, in this case, I need to," Sherlock explained. "No more spanking until the very last night of your grounding. By then you'll be all healed up and I won't feel like a bastard taking you over my knee again."

Rose stood there for a moment, having no idea how to respond. Finally, she gingerly sat on his lap and hugged him as tightly as she could. "Thank you."

"Don't tell Mycroft, he won't ever let me live it down," he whispered conspiratorially.


	9. If You Give a Girl a Flat

The next few days of her grounding were some of Rose's busiest yet. She volunteered, putting in as many hours a day as Lestrade would allow her to, then generally proceeded to Mycroft's in order to pack her things for the upcoming move. She'd had dinner with him three times and there hadn't even been any fighting. Rose was certain things couldn't be better! With the exception of the looming spanking due the last night of her grounding.

"You're certain you want to move still?" Mycroft asked her one evening as he stood in the doorframe of her old bedroom. "You can stay here as long as you like, the door is always open."

Rose gave him a sweet smile, suspecting he was far more concerned about being alone in this big house than he was with her being away from his watchful eye. "I know I haven't been back all that long, just a couple weeks in fact, but I really can't imagine not living at Baker Street with the boys. Though I'm certain we'll all be very happy for me to have my own little place. A girl can't sleep on a lie-low forever," she admitted with a laugh.

"You can take whatever you'd like from here," he offered. "Whatever will make you comfortable." The large old house had plenty of rooms that were unused with various sets of furniture and the kitchen had an overabundance of dish sets.

She nodded, smiling once again. "I know. You told me a few times now," Rose pointed out gently. "I really will be ok. They won't let anything happen to me, you know that."

Mycroft crossed the room and gently tucked a stray curl behind her ear. "I know that. For all Sherlock is reckless with himself, he's very protective of you. Always has been. I'm just not certain I like you growing up." He'd really enjoyed having Rose around while she packed over the last few days.

"It was bound to happen someday. Everyone does it. For what it's worth, I don't plan on leaving again. Leaving, leaving. I'm much happier here than I ever was while adventuring, and you've been trying very hard to give me some space. I appreciate that," Rose assured him. "I'm only a short drive away. I'll come visit, and you can come visit me. I'll even cook for you!"

"I'd like that, very much," he assured her. He reached out and cupped her face with his hand, gently rubbing her cheek with his thumb. While he would never admit it to anyone, Mycroft had taken Sherlock's words to heart about being more affectionate with Rose. He was trying very hard to do that, even though it was still quite awkward for him to a certain extent.

"You're a good girl Rose," Mycroft murmured. "I don't think I tell you that often enough, but you are."

Her face lit up at his words and she immediately hugged him tightly. "That means a lot to me. I know it's hard for you, but it means the world to me that you're trying."

Mycroft was still for a moment before wrapping his arms around her as well and hugging Rose tightly. "You're worth it, you know," he whispered. "Will you stay for dinner again? I asked cook to make your favorites."

"I'd like that a lot actually. Are you going to help with the move on Saturday?" Rose asked.

"I thought I'd be the director on this side of things. Make certain the movers don't damage anything, including the house, while loading the truck," Mycroft explained.

"Sherlock is going to be a nightmare for those poor movers, I just know it. He lacks good people skills sometimes," Rose giggled. "He means well, but unless you know him, you miss that part! I'm going to do my best to act as a buffer so the movers aren't raked over the coals. And I've recruited the boys and Mrs. Hudson to help me unpack once the movers leave. It'll be a busy day."

'Is she still with you? SH'

'Just sent her off in a cab. Had a lovely evening. M'

'Good. SH'

'Keep her safe, Sherlock. I feel very uneasy about this. M'

Sherlock smiled just a bit as he read Mycroft's text. 'She'll be fine. We'll all keep watch. SH'

'We? M'

'John, Mrs. Hudson and I. SH'

'Mrs. Hudson? M'

'Without her, England would fall. SH'

"There she is," John announced, smiling as Rose entered the flat a few minutes later. "How'd it go love? Nice evening, everything packed?"

"Mycroft is trying so hard, I'm so proud of him," she responded, positively beaming. "Cook made my favorites and everything that needs to be boxed has been boxed. I'm exhausted." Rose flopped onto the couch and smiled.

"Takeaway? Again?" she asked, giving John and Sherlock a stern look. "Do you two ever eat anything that isn't takeaway? If I wasn't here I think you'd both starve to death."

"Mrs. Hudson would never allow that," Sherlock assured her.

"And I make very good breakfasts, I'll have you know," John retorted with a smile. "And manage just fine with other meals. I may not be as good at it as you, or Mrs. Hudson, but we won't starve."

"Hmm. Not convinced," Rose decided. "Good thing for you I'm not going far."

"You watch John, she'll spend just as much time here as she does presently," Sherlock predicted.

"Perhaps. Can't say I'd be sad about it," John admitted. "She's delightful."

Sherlock rolled his eyes but chose not to comment.

"I knew I liked you," Rose giggled, giving John a wink. "Well, I'm exhausted. I'm going to try and get some sleep."

"Ah ah ah; not so fast. We need to have our discussion," Sherlock reminded her. "We're setting you free tomorrow, remember? Your final night of being grounded."

"Oh, trust me, I've been counting the days," Rose admitted. "I was just really hoping you'd forget about that part."

"Highly unlikely."

John's heart went out to her. Rose had been so well behaved since that evening he'd spanked her! He gave Sherlock a look, hoping his friend would relent.

"Don't you start, John Watson. She'll be completely unmanageable if I don't follow through," Sherlock said.

Rose scowled. "She's right here, listening to you two."

With a sigh, Sherlock crossed the room and pulled her into a hug. "Don't make this harder than it has to be," he said quietly. "You knew this was coming, and I don't like it either, but you know it's well deserved."

She snuggled close. "I know. I still hate it though. But then it's done, right?"

He nodded. "Go get ready for bed, I'll be in shortly. I love you, Rose."

"Love you too," Rose responded. She gave him a hug before heading into the bedroom to get ready for bed.

Twenty agonizing minutes later, Sherlock knocked on the door before entering. Rose's stomach had tied itself in knots while she'd waited, and she gave him a nervous look when he entered.

"You didn't bring anything," she commented.

"I didn't think it was necessary," Sherlock explained. "My hand should be enough. Don't look quite so forlorn." He sat beside Rose and hugged her close, content to cuddle her close for a few minutes. There was no rush after all.

Finally, Rose pulled away. "I'm as ready as I'll ever be." She gave him a tiny smile, clearly making an effort to be brave.

"Over my knee then," Sherlock instructed her. He waited until she positioned herself over his lap before baring her bottom and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Why are you getting a spanking, Rosenwyn?" The question was punctuated by a sharp swat to her right cheek.

Rose scowled, finding it monumentally unfair to be asked questions while being spanked.

"Rosenwyn, I'm waiting for an answer," Sherlock said sternly. When she remained silent, he began swatting her upper thighs.

"Ow! Okay, okay! Ow!" Rose yelped. "Because I destroyed a crime scene- ow! Ow! Not so hard! And didn't think about alternatives to getting you that creepy fan letter. Owwww!"

Sherlock nodded in agreement with her response; not that she could see it of course. "That's precisely right. When you do not take the time to think things through and respond to obstacles in appropriate ways, there can be unintended consequences, like contaminating important evidence." He had been spanking her slowly while scolding, but feeling that the point had been made and was understood, Sherlock picked up the pace, peppering her bottom with hearty smacks.

"No! No no no!" Rose cried out. Though she couldn't see it, her bottom was rapidly becoming first pink, then red, as Sherlock ignored her tears and squirming, determined to deliver a sound spanking. He hoped it would be the last for some time. When she threw her hand back, he caught it, and continued.

Finally, just when Rose was certain she couldn't take anymore and lay across his lap, sobbing and no longer squirming. That was when Sherlock stopped, righted her clothing, and immediately helped her up. Enveloping her in a hug, he eased her back onto his lap, this time right side up, and tried to soothe the tears he had caused.

"It's all done now," Sherlock assured her. "You're forgiven and we won't think about it ever again. You took that so well, you're such a good girl. I love you, Rose. It'll be alright and you'll be just fine. I wouldn't have it any other way." As he held her tight, Rose's arms wrapped around him and she pressed her face against his shoulder, continuing to cry.

It took several minutes of cuddling and comfort, during which Sherlock spoke soothingly to her and even rocked her in his arms, before Rose's tears stopped. "I'm so glad that's over," he murmured before kissing her head.

"_You're _glad that's over? Not nearly as glad as I am," Rose retorted. She tried to sound angry, but she just couldn't manage it.

Sherlock chuckled and gave her a wink. "Will you live to plague me another day?"

She rewarded him with a smile and nodded. "I do believe I will. Not that easy to get rid of me, after all. I've quite decided I like it here, spankings aside, and I'm going to stick around a good long while."

"That is very happy news indeed," Sherlock decided. He settled back further on the bed, happy to hold on to Rose for as long as she wished him to.

The following morning Rose rushed out of her cab and into the coffee shop. It had become a routine each day: she bought Greg coffee in the morning; he bought her one in the afternoon. Today she was running a little bit late, but knew he'd let it go if she managed to get the drink. The shop was busy, but several workers spotted her and waved as she stood in line.

Having been there every morning for almost a week, Rose was on a first name basis with each of the workers, which is why she was caught by surprise when an unknown male around her age was working the cash register. "Morning," Rose greeted with a smile before placing her order. "Are you new? I haven't seen you before."

He nodded, returning her smile. "First day. Can I have names for the cups?"

"Put Rose on one and Greg on the other; I buy coffee for my boss," she explained.

"Oh, that's nice. Are you here often?"

"Pretty much every day, or so it seems," Rose admitted, handing over her card to pay for the drinks.

"Guess I'll see you around then," he commented.

"Probably so. Have a good day!" Rose moved out of the ordering line and waited off to the side for the drinks to be completed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him look over at her every so often, and she was rather flattered. It was nice to be admired by a handsome man! She made certain to give him a wave before leaving and hurrying up the block.

"I'm not late! I'm not!" Rose protested as she scurried into Lestrade's office.

"Clock says you are," he commented, reaching for the coffee.

"Then the clock is wrong," she decided. "The shop was really busy and I got chatted up a bit. I apologize."

Lestrade waved a hand. "I'm not really concerned. I hadn't even sent Sherlock a text yet asking after you. Besides, you brought me coffee. How can I complain?" He winked and handed her a pile of work, directing her to the desk that she'd been using.

By the time 4pm rolled around, Rose had coffee orders from ten people for her scheduled daily run. "There are a lot of them today. It's going to take a bit Greg," she pointed out to Lestrade. "And you want your usual, yeah?"

"Please. And I'm not concerned about the time. You're still on the clock for volunteering," Lestrade assured her with a smile. "Can you make it back with all those on your own?"

"I used to waitress, I'm sure I can manage just fine," she replied.

"If you change your mind, send me a text and I'll send someone down. Now off you go, I'm suffering caffeine withdrawal already!"

Rose gave him a bit of a salute and headed off down the street towards the coffee shop. As she entered, someone bumped into her, almost knocking her off. "Hey, watch… Oh! It's you from this morning. The new guy," she said, giving him a smile. "In a rush?"

"No, I didn't see you; apologies," the young man said. "Name's Mark. Your name is Rose, right? Back again?"

She nodded. "More coffee for the boss, and some of the others. It's a ritual now, every day at 4pm." Rose beamed when he opened the door and held it for her. "Have a nice day Mark. Lovely to meet you." Placing the orders, she waited about fifteen minutes for them to be filled and carefully stacked the drink trays for the walk up the block.

"Did you need help?" Someone asked as she exited.

"Oh! Mark. I'm alright," she assured him. "Just going up the street to Scotland Yard."

"I wouldn't mind. I'm going that way to take the tube. The station's right by there," he pointed out. Mark flashed her a charming smile; it made Rose feel like melting and she was sure her cheeks were getting pink.

"Alright, but just to the building. I'm not sure I should let you inside," Rose admitted, allowing him to take two of the three drink trays.

They chatted pleasantly while making their way up the street, until they reached Scotland Yard and Rose took the trays back. "Thanks Mark. That was very sweet of you. Gentlemen are hard to find," she said sincerely.

"Anytime," he said. Giving her a wave he headed off to the tube while she headed inside.

Reaching the floor where Lestrade and the homicide squad were located, Rose could instantly tell something had happened. People were scurrying around and Lestrade was barking out orders and pulling on his coat.

"Have to take it to go," he told Rose, grabbing his drink. "There's been a murder. Don't stay later than six and ask someone for a ride if you need one. Behave!" He winked at her before entering the elevator and disappearing.

The following evening, Rose was laid out on the floor of 221C. "I am so horribly exhausted," she announced. "It's got to be a takeaway night. I can't even imagine summoning the energy to cook anything for anyone for at least the next twelve hours."

Sherlock and John were similarly sprawled out on the floor, one of either side of her. "Now, see, I find that quite funny, that you're so exhausted," John commented. "When _we _did all the work."

"And Lestrade, don't forget that," Sherlock added.

"I did work. I brought up a ton of boxes!" Rose protested.

Both men looked at her, eyebrows quirked.

"Okay, many boxes."

"Try again," John told her.

"Several?" Rose offered.

John shook his head. "Nope."

"You brought up _three _boxes," Sherlock stated. "Three boxes of breakables that weren't particularly large boxes at that."

"Yes, well I'm not the one that ran off the movers Mycroft hired, am I?" She quipped, giving Sherlock a hard look.

"Got you there," John agreed. "Neither of us ran them off. Or even Mycroft in fact."

Sherlock growled. "They were carrying things poorly that should have been better protected. And they were tracking mud on Mrs. Hudson's carpets! And it's hardly _my _fault they were illiterate and couldn't tell the word "bedroom" from "bathroom" when both were written in the Queen's good English."

Rose let out a heavy sigh. "Sherlock, you're being dull." She smiled at John when he snickered. "We heard this bit already, when you were shouting at the movers and calling them names."

Sherlock continued on as if she had never said a word. "And they were stacking boxes inappropriately, even when they managed to put them in the right places! Boxes stacked on top of one another must be of similar size and weight or they are unlikely to stay up right."

At that precise moment a large box fell over, toppling a whole small stack of boxes, spilling books at their feet. "You see?" Sherlock said, pointing at the mess. "Stacked inappropriately. Imbeciles."

"I'm too tired to move. I might starve to death right here. Wouldn't that be something? Get shot in Afghanistan, live, and then die of starvation in Baker Street," John mused.

Rose rolled over onto her stomach to look at John. "Speaking of which, how is your shoulder? I told you to be careful, didn't I? And you wouldn't listen."

"We couldn't leave half your things in the street," John countered. "And I'm alright."

"Liar. Don't go hurting yourself on my account, I'll feel badly," she said sincerely.

"Hoo-hoo!" A familiar voice called as its owner came up the stairs. "Come downstairs, the lot of you," Mrs. Hudson requested. "I baked a cake just for Rose. So exciting, your first flat! And you picked me. I mean my building."

"Of course I did Mrs. Hudson," Rose said with a smile. "How about we get some takeaway and make it a real party? If you don't mind having us."

"No love, of course not. Come on then, up off the floor. John, how is that shoulder?" Mrs. Hudson fussed over him for a moment before leading the procession of weary movers down the stairs.

"You know I couldn't live anywhere else, Mrs. Hudson. And I'll be the best of tenants, I promise," Rose assured the sweet landlady.

"Oh, I've no doubt you will be. Just don't let that brother of yours start shooting up any walls in there."

The sounds of a bloodcurdling scream ripped through the air. It was 2am and two men who had previously been asleep tripped over their covers as they scramble to get out of bed as they heard another scream. One grabbed his gun, the other his harpoon. A key went into a lock and was turned, allowing them to rush into the room, following the screams, uncertain what they would find.

Only to find Rose, in the bathroom, screaming her head off and frantically trying to kill two spiders on the wall.

"You have _got _to be kidding me," John grumbled, putting down his gun. "For God's sake Rose, they're spiders. They won't kill you."

"Don't bother," Sherlock grumbled as he dealt with the spiders. "Irrational fear of hers, never changes, can't do spiders. If you give a girl a flat, you'd think she could manage that all on her own, but oh no. Not Rosenwyn Holmes, not when it's a spider."

John sighed heavily. "Back to bed, no more screaming, or I'll give you something to scream about," he told Rose, far more tired and grumpy than he was actually angry. "You know, I don't think we're ever going to have a good night's sleep with her in another flat, even if it is next door."

"Very cleverly deduced," Sherlock praised. "If only we'd thought of that sooner." Putting aside his harpoon, he hugged Rose tight and kissed her forehead before returning to 221B.


	10. Keeping Secrets

"You're here. Again. It's as though you're homeless," Sherlock grumbled when he came home to find Rose in his flat.

"Love you too," Rose replied in a sing-song tone.

His prediction that she would spend about as much time in his and John's flat as she had prior to moving in next door had quickly come true over the past two weeks and Sherlock's complaints were halfhearted at best.

"Please tell me you did _not _steal our coffee again, because I want to have coffee," Sherlock retorted. "In fact, if we're out, I'm going to spank you."

Rose rolled her eyes. "You might be out."

Growling, Sherlock exited the flat.

"Did you take his nicotine patches again?" She asked John.

"He abuses them terribly. You cannot wear three patches, it's not safe," John said, shaking his head. "And I live in fear of the day he has a "four patch problem.""

"I found of box of them under my sink the other day. I should really take back that key I gave him," Rose mused.

Just then Sherlock stormed back into the flat, carrying a container of coffee grounds. "Look John, we have coffee again!" He announced a little too happily.

"Well, would you look at that," John chuckled, particularly when he caught sight of the look on Rose's face.

"That's my coffee!" Rose laughed.

"And this is my flat, which you continue to live in, despite having one of your own. I'm not entirely certain you actually _live _in your flat and if I have to share mine with you, you're sharing your coffee with me."

The routine the three had fallen into was a comfortable one for each of them. Rose popped over each morning for breakfast with John and Sherlock if he was awake and eating, before she headed off to the Yard. At night, the two men went next door to have dinner with Rose, much to the delight of Mrs. Hudson, who always thought Sherlock and John hadn't taken good care of themselves. After dinner they typically went back to 221B, just because it was larger and more experiment friendly for Sherlock, until someone decided they were ready for bed. For Sherlock, there was the added benefit of being able to keep a good eye on his sister, and discover that she really did enjoy being around post-grounding.

"Someone doesn't want dinner tomorrow," Rose decided. "Is that what you're saying Sherlock?"

"No, I'm saying give me back my damn patches!"

"That's all me, Sherlock," John assured him. "And you're not getting them. You're going to poison yourself."

"These murders are a three patch problem John. I need my patches," Sherlock growled.

"You need a time out," Rose decided with a snicker. Her attempt to lighten the mood was met with narrowed eyes and a pinch on the behind that nearly sent her off the kitchen chair.

"John! He's picking on me again!"

"John, make her go home!"

"Now, now children. Daddy's trying to relax," John quipped, picking up the newspaper. "If you can't play like good little children, I'll send you both to the corner for a time out."

This declaration was meant with a moment of stunned silence from the Holmes siblings, before the trio dissolved into laughter, the tensions of the day melting away.

"And who made you 'Daddy'?" Sherlock asked sarcastically, settling down with his coffee.

John let out an undignified snort. "Do you really need to ask? I am, by far, the most adult person in the room."

Rose gave a sigh of contentment. "I love this…this whatever we are together. Call it what you want, but it's wonderful."

"I heard a rumor earlier that you'll be avoiding us coming up soon," John said. "I'm quite broken hearted about it."

"And we'll starve, heartless girl," Sherlock added. He wrapped an arm around Rose and kissed the top of her head.

"Avoiding is such a strong term," Rose replied, shaking her head. "I'm meeting my dance partner tomorrow after volunteering and we're going to start practicing for a ballroom dancing competition coming up in November."

"That's wonderful! And we'll be invited, yeah? To watch the competition, I mean," John asked.

"Of course! You and Sherlock and Mycroft as well, if we can convince him to come."

"Provided he's not freelancing with the CIA or what have you, I'll make certain he attends," Sherlock promised. "What's this new partner's name? Do you know him?"

Rose shook her head. "No, I haven't met him before. Bonnie said he's brilliant though and we'll be well matched," she explained, referencing the director of the dance school. "He does ballet and ballroom, same as me. We'll probably have a lot of late nights as we work on choreography and everything. It's going to be a lot of work, but I'm so looking forward to it!"

"Be back by midnight," John told her, giving her a firm look. "My dad always said nothing good ever happened after midnight."

"That's completely untrue. I was born around 3am and that's after midnight," Sherlock replied.

John gave Rose a pointed look. "See what I told you? Nothing good happens after midnight."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I can't promise that," Rose admitted softly. "But I'll do my best. Not because I have to obey any sort of curfew, mind you," she cautioned. "But because I don't want anyone to be worried."

"I'll expect texts on a regular basis, or I'll come find you," Sherlock added. "I've yet to track your mobile, but I will start doing so if you don't communicate with one of us."

John nodded his agreement. "And make sure he's a gentleman and sees you into a cab before he leaves. If he doesn't, I want to know about it."

"Or Captain Watson will come looking for him?" Rose asked with a laugh. "I'll be good, promise! Regular communication with someone, and I'll be safe. We'll be right at the studio and it's in a good, safe neighborhood."

"Louise! You're back from holiday!" Rose exclaimed, hurrying into the coffee shop the next morning. "How was it?"

"It was wonderful. Have you ever been to the Bahamas? You really should go, it's the warmest and most relaxing place I've ever been," Louise said. "But I missed seeing you every morning. Have you started back at the studio yet? And did you move?"

Rose nodded. "Yeah, couple weeks back. Baker Street, 221C. You should come by sometime! And I start back at the studio tonight, I'm really excited."

"That's great. I'll see you then, I've got the 10-12 year old tap class tonight," Louise said. "The usual for you and your boss right? Such a creature of habit, silly girl."

"Routine is good, comforting. Much better than moving around all the time, flying low under the radar," Rose admitted.

"No kidding. I like my holidays, but you wouldn't find me backpacking around Europe! Write your mobile number down for me again, will you? I dropped mine in the ocean and had to get a new one. Lost all my contacts!" Louise said with a groan.

"Well, as long as that was the only downside to your holiday, I'd say you lucked out," Rose responded. She grabbed a piece of paper and scribbled down her number, giving it to Louise. "See you later on."

Rose moved aside, not wanting to keep anyone from getting their orders placed, and waited for her latte and Greg's macchiato to be finished. "Morning Mark, how are you?" she asked, seeing the young man looking at her.

"Oh fine, fine. You and Louise dance, huh? Couldn't help overhearing," Mark admitted.

"I've known Louise for an age, we started dance together when we were just tiny things," Rose explained. She thanked him for the drinks and headed on her way to Scotland Yard.

As Rose entered Lestrade's office, she let out a sigh. "You look like you haven't slept in a week, Greg," she said, handing over his drink.

"Feel like it too. Another one last night," Lestrade murmured. That made three young women found murdered in the last three weeks.

"I thought so. I heard Sherlock and John on the stairs really late last night. Have you found a connection yet between the victims?" Rose asked.

Lestrade shook his head. "That's why I called Sherlock. There's got to be something I'm missing. But enough of that, no need to worry you about it. I've got two boxes of reports that need to be alphabetized and then added to the cabinets. You up for it?"

"Oh, I think so. Leave it to me. And anything else I can do to help," Rose said sincerely. "Even if I have to buy you six coffees a day."

He smiled. "You're a good girl. Just do me a favor and stay safe, alright? That will be one less person I have to worry about."

"Done," she promised.

When Rose went for the afternoon coffee run, she was disappointed to see Louise had left, but she didn't lack for company as she waited for the large order to be filled. Mark, as usual, was waiting outside the coffee shop when she arrived.

"You're really very sweet, but you don't have to wait for me every day. I'm sure you're exhausted, you get in here at four in the morning," Rose said gently.

"I like to wait. I like to help you," Mark replied, smiling.

"Well don't wait around, alright? I'm a big girl, and I can always call an officer if I need some assistance," Rose assured him. "You get home and relax after your shifts, yeah?"

Mark frowned. "No, no, don't do that. It's only an extra ten minutes; I'm off duty at four."

She gave in and allowed him to help her carry the drinks up the street. Rose wasn't quite sure what to make of Mark. He seemed very eager, but in the last few weeks hadn't once asked for her number, or if she'd like to have dinner, or anything. At first she thought he was shy, and working up to it, but it had nearly been three weeks. He should have worked up to that point already.

Maybe he's just a real gentleman and likes to help a lady, she thought to herself as she entered Scotland Yard. Not interested, but a helpful sort of fellow. Perhaps women just weren't his area, and he was looking for a friend more than anything else?

"I think you've got yourself an admirer," Louise commented in the changing room at the studio. "Mark was talking about you all day. Wondering what you do up at the Yard, and were you seeing anyone. Loads of questions!"

"You know, I've thought so," Rose admitted. "He's very sweet, but he seems painfully shy. He walks me back every day after his shift, but he's never said anything about liking me or wanting to spend time with me. I'm not quite sure what to make of him."

"He's cute, though," Louise said. "Maybe he's not dated much?" Her voice took on a tragic tone and Louise whispered, "What if he had his heart broken and he's scared?"

"Oh, that would be awful! I really hope he works up to asking me out soon. I'm not seeing anyone at all, haven't dated in an age. It'd be nice to start up again, especially with someone who's as sweet as Mark seems to be."

Louise smiled. "Leave it to me! I'll put in a good word for you," she promised. "Now hurry off and meet your competition partner. Now _he _is a man, let me tell you. The little girls just swoon over him, it's the cutest thing. Can't blame them a bit. I'm very jealous of you Rose Holmes!"

The girls shared a giggle before parting ways; Louise off to teach tap and Rose to meet her partner.

"You look terrible," Louise giggled at the end of the night. "Been a while since you danced six hours straight, isn't it?"

"Too long. I'm not sure I'm able to walk properly," Rose laughed. Her mobile vibrated and she checked it, expecting a text from one of her brothers or John.

'You're beautiful.' No name, not a number she recognized. She dismissed it, assuming someone had put in the wrong number and sent a text to her rather than its intended recipient.

"Did you like Alfred? Isn't he gorgeous?" Louise whispered.

"He is. I'm going to have a _lot _of fun dancing with him. We'll make a lovely pair," Rose agreed. Picking up her duffle bag she walked with Louise towards the studio exit but stopped suddenly in her tracks.

"Do you see someone across the street, in that doorway?" She asked her friend.

"No, why?"

"I could've sworn that I saw someone over there," Rose mumbled. Her stomach twisted into knots; she had been so sure that a man had been in that doorway. "Do you want to wait and ride with me? I'm going to text my brother for a ride, he'd be happy to take you home."

Louise shook her head. "No, I'm fine. See you in the morning." The girls hugged and Louise exited the building.

Rose pulled out her mobile to text Mycroft. 'Could I get a ride from the studio to Baker Street?'

'Detained. Will send my car. M'

She let out a sigh of relief when the car arrived, even if she did have to hobble out to it. After giving the driver address, Rose sent John a text. 'You home? I'm on my way and need your help.'

'Everything alright?'

'My feet are so sore. Not sure I can make the stairs by myself.'

'I'll be there.'

Rose smiled to herself. John was so reliable and dependable. When the car dropped her at the curb, she hobbled inside; sure enough John was right there.

"What's going on? Why are you limping like that?"John asked.

"I've spent the last six hours dancing, for the first time in a long time. I've got a lovely crop of blisters going," she explained.

"Love, you should take better care of yourself," John scolded lightly. He scooped her up to carry her up the stairs.

"Your shoulder! John, put me down! This can't be good for your shoulder!" Rose protested.

"Hush, you weigh next to nothing, I swear it," John assured her. "Don't worry about me." He carried her into 221B and set her down on the couch. "Alright, let me see the damage to those feet of yours."

"They're a bit swollen. I might need help getting my shoes off," she admitted, wincing in advance.

After unlacing her sneakers, John carefully took her shoes off, cringing as she groaned in pain, then peeled off her socks as well.

"When you do something, you really do it, don't you?" John chuckled. "That looks so painful love. Though I must say, you have the tiniest feet I've ever seen on an adult woman. They'd be rather cute if they weren't so banged up."

"Dancing six hours straight does that to a girl. I'm out of practice, or at least my feet are. The rest was good," Rose admitted, grinning at him.

"God, six hours. Full on six hours?" John questioned. He frowned when she nodded in conformation. "Did you remember to drink like you should and eat a bit to keep up your energy?"

"Eh, sorta," Rose replied, blushing a bit.

"No. No 'sorta' business," he told her sternly. "You keep hydrated and eat like you should, or we're going to have words about the importance of your health. Understand?"

By now, her face was completely red, and she nodded to indicate she understood.

John leaned forward and kissed her forehead. "I'll have to lance these if you want any hope of walking tomorrow," he admitted. "Try wearing some light socks until you get used to being in those heels for so long."

"Oh, because that's attractive," Rose laughed. "What will Alfred think of that?

"Let me get my kit, I'll be right back. Then you'd best tell me all about that Alfred; especially if he stayed until you were in a cab." John headed upstairs to retrieve his first aid kit and quickly returned to Rose.

"You know, I quite like having my own personal doctor," she decided. "Even if he scolds."

"And I'll do more than scold if necessary," John admitted. "I'm very tempted to bandage your entire foot when I get done with this. I want to see these feet again tomorrow."

Rose giggled and saluted. "You know, I quite like it when you say things like that."

"Like what, love?" He didn't look up at her, instead focusing on her abused feet.

"Just things. Fuss at me about things," she tried to explain. "It means you care."

"Why else would I put up with you?" John laughed. This time he looked up and winked. "Of course I care. You and those spiders though will be the death of me. Can't believe you can't manage those on your own."

"In all fairness, I haven't done any screaming since that first night," Rose countered defiantly.

"That's true, and I appreciate that. I enjoy my sleep. Hasn't stopped you from popping over and half dragging me into your flat to get them during the day though," he stated, shaking his head. "Say, I had a favor I wanted to ask."

"Anything."

"You haven't heard it yet."

Rose smiled. "Don't need to. Ask away."

"Well… I wanted to hire you. I've got an event coming up and I don't know how to dance. I was wondering if you'd teach me," John explained.

"Oh, I'd love to! That would be great. What sort of event?" Rose asked, her face lit up.

"A charity ball, benefiting wounded military personnel. I'd like to go and show some support. One of the girls from surgery is going with me, so I knew I just had to ask you for some lessons so I don't make an idiot out of myself," he told her sincerely.

"I'd love too, it'll be great fun! She won't be disappointed in you, I promise."

"It's about a month away, so we've got time. Time enough for you to keep practicing for that competition and for your feet to get used to working so hard again."

"Saturday then. I'll book a small room at the studio," Rose decided. "You'll be a brilliant dancer in no time."

When Rose woke up the next morning and checked her mobile, she found multiple text messages from that unknown number, one of which particularly unnerved her.

'You dance like an angel.'

It meant someone really had been across the street, watching, and had probably been closer to the studio at some point. The thought of someone watching her was unpleasant, even a little frightening.

'I don't know who this is,' she text. 'But please leave me alone.'

There was no response.

"You're a little jumpy today. You alright?" Lestrade asked that afternoon.

"Yes, just fine," Rose hurried to assure him, plastering a smile on her face. There had been eight texts in the last five hours and she still had no idea who they were from.

"Everyone's a bit on edge with these murders," he admitted.

"Particularly Sherlock, who is growing more obsessed by the day," she confessed. "It's troubling to think that even he cannot find a connection that makes sense between them. Loads of evidence, but nothing that ties them together aside from their sex and age."

"Quite right," Lestrade agreed. He was praying for a breakthrough before there was another murder. "But you'd tell me if it was something else, wouldn't you?"

She nodded, avoiding eye contact. "Of course. Would it be too much trouble for you, or someone, to give me a ride to the studio after I'm done?"

"No trouble at all," Lestrade assured her. "Sherlock would horribly murder me if something happened to you, so I'm more than willing to be extra cautious where you're concerned. Besides, who else would do all this nasty paperwork business for me?"

"I suppose you'd have to recruit another volunteer," Rose laughed.

"Well, when your hours are done, there's a job open for you," he said in all seriousness. "I could work it out. I know you've got something lined up with your dancing, but if you ever need work, I'll hire you in an instant."

Rose beamed at him. "That's great! Thank you so much, Greg. I might take you up on that sometime."

'Would you send a car for me again? Or come yourself?'

'What time? Is everything alright? M'

'It's dark and I'm a bit nervous. 11 please.'

'I'll see you then. M'

Mycroft frowned as he looked at his mobile, feeling very uneasy, but uncertain of why.

'Everything alright with Rose? M'

'Far as I know. Haven't seen her much, trying to solve those murders. SH'

'She's asked me for rides from the studio twice now. M'

'Good. She's being safe. SH'

At the same time her brothers were texting, Rose was deleting more of those unknown texts from her mobile. This is really an elaborate prank, she thought to herself. There was no other way to explain it. Surely, within the next few days, someone would claim credit and they'd have a good laugh. Then she could stop looking over her shoulder and shake off the feeling that someone was watching her.


	11. Hannah and Hewes

Title: Hannah and Hewes

John Watson was nervous. In fact, he was incredibly nervous and it was a feeling he didn't particularly enjoy. He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt anxious to this extent. John was certain that he had been, only he was unable to pin point a time recently.

"John, you have to relax," Rose coached. "We haven't even started yet. Don't worry, you'll be just fine."

"Feel a bit like an idiot," he admitted.

"Well you shouldn't. I'm thrilled to be able to teach you how to do some ballroom dancing. I'm sure you'll do well. Now shake it off. Shrug your shoulders, move your arms a bit, and imagine all that anxiety falling right off," she advised. "You'll feel better."

He did as she asked, continuing to feel idiotic, but gave her a smile all the same.

"Relax. It'll be just like Hannah and Hewes, except in reverse."

"Who? Are you talking in riddles again? You Holmes lot just love doing that don't you?" John asked with a laugh.

"Hannah and Hewes! _Easter Parade_. You haven't seen that?" Rose asked. "We'll have to watch it! Anyway, Hewes loses his dance partner who wants to do her own show and, believing he can make anyone a dancer, he picks out Hannah who he sees singing at a little restaurant. She knows nothing about dancing; can't even tell her left from her right! But he does teach her to dance, and dance beautifully. It's my very favorite musical in the world. So we're Hannah and Hewes, but backwards. See?"

John frowned a bit. "I think so. You're saying I'm completely inept, but not to worry, you can fix me?"

Her face fell. "No! No no! That's not what I meant at all. Just that anyone can learn to dance and be great at it."

"I know. I'm teasing you," he assured her with a wink.

Rose promptly stuck her tongue out at him. "And people call me a brat," she grumbled teasingly.

"Because you _are_," John laughed. "A delightful brat, but a brat all the same."

"We'll start with the basic step. Think of it as a box," Rose instructed. "Come stand beside me and we'll do it together. Step forward with your left foot, then to the side, then feet together. Step back, then to the side, and feet together again."

When John had that pattern down, they tried it together. "Hands here," Rose instructed. "Hold mine up on this side, your other hand at my waist and we'll make the box together. You're the top of the box and I'm the bottom."

They recreated the box step several times and John found himself picking it up with much greater ease than he'd thought possible.

"You know, once upon a time, the waltz was a very scandalous dance. Because people had to dance so close to one another and touch each other for a longer period of time. Right here in Britain, people refused to allow it to be danced at social functions for ages, eventually progressing to allowing certain people permission to do it, and then finally just getting over themselves about it," Rose pointed out. "Isn't that fascinating? Two hundred years ago, we'd have been thrown out of party in London for trying to dance this."

John smiled. "That is fascinating actually. And you're a great teacher. I can't believe I haven't broken your toes or anything yet."

"I had faith in you," Rose assured him. "Now, let's make it a little more complicated!"

Two hours later, John could fully waltz: box step, the turns, every bit of it he could do and looked good doing it. Not only did he look good, he felt confident about his abilities.

"That's incredible Rose," he complimented. "You're going to be an amazing dance teacher. I don't know why Mycroft doesn't see it."

"I don't know either," she admitted. "I'm hoping after the competition, if I do really well, he'll support me better on all this. It's all I've ever done, since I was three years old. My mum signed me up. Every girl needed to know how to dance, she'd say."

John smiled. "I'm sure she'd be very proud of you."

"Let's take a little break and then we'll run through it a few more times, with music. I'll teach you a new one next Saturday, so you're not a one-trick pony, as they say," Rose told him.

"Good idea. Time to hydrate and get an energy boost," he agreed.

While they had their snack and drank their water, Rose checked her mobile. The messages kept coming, all throughout the day, intimating that someone was watching her.

'I want to dance with you.'

'Teach me to dance, too.'

'You're so beautiful.'

'Won't you dance with me?'

And on and on it went. She quickly began deleting the dozen or so texts, paying no attention to John for a moment.

"You seem to be quite popular. Lots of texts?" he asked.

"Yeah. Yeah, lots of them."

Her voice sounded strange, making him frown. "Everything alright? Who's texting you so much?"

Rose looked up, giving him a bit of a smile. "Oh, just Louise. She's chatty."

Part of her wanted to tell him about these strange texts and her suspicions that she was being followed by someone, but another part of her didn't want to say anything about it. John, Sherlock and Mycroft would all overreact and put her in some ivory tower somewhere, never to be released. Besides, whoever it was would get bored eventually, particularly since she never responded. It hadn't even quite been a week yet; maybe, if it went on longer, she'd say something about it. Or change her number.

"But you're deleting them, not responding," John pointed out.

"Can't respond to all of them. I'll text her back in a bit. I need to finish up with you and then Alfred is coming in. She'll understand." Rose gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look and placed her mobile back in her duffle before ushering John back to practice.

"This is a great little flat," Louise declared upon visiting Rose at Baker Street. "Your dining set is absolutely stunning. How did you ever get that?" She ran her hands along the gleaming cherry wood dining table.

"Mycroft. He let me take whatever I wanted from the house. There is so much unused furniture, between the rooms and storage and the attic. Otherwise I wouldn't have any furniture," Rose admitted. "Sit down, sit down. Pick out a DVD and I'll pop popcorn."

"God, it's been forever since we had a night to chat and watch a film," Louise said with a smile. She perused the extensive collection of DVDs and selected one of their favorites, queuing it up on the DVD player.

"Alright, we have our film, our popcorn, we need blankets. Can't curl up and watch a good movie without a blanket," Rose stated. She disappeared into the bedroom and located an extra blanket from her closet, then returned to the sitting room.

Twenty minutes later the door of the flat burst open so hard it banged the wall behind it. "Rose, I need to…" Sherlock stopped in his tracks at finding the two snuggled under blankets in front of the telly.

Rose was familiar with the look on his face. His 'I'm deducing you' look that often made people uncomfortable. "Sherlock this is Louise. You should remember her, from dance way back."

Sherlock nodded and opened his mouth to say something when Rose cut him off.

"Sherlock Holmes, what is that container you are holding? Is that a human kidney?" Rose demanded.

"That's gross," Louise murmured, uncertain what to make of this development.

"It _is _gross. Sherlock, please leave the body parts in your flat, we've had this discussion _thirteen_ times and I've only lived here _three weeks_," Rose pointed out. "Out. Out out OUT!"

"I need to refrigerate-"

"No, oh no you don't. Not in my fridge Sherlock. Get that out of my flat immediately and don't bring anything else over here. The answer is no and will remain no until my dying day."

The detective let out a put-upon sigh and turned to leave the flat, slamming the door behind him.

"I'd forgotten about your brother being all odd," Louise admitted with a giggle. "And those experiments of his. Does he really keep that stuff in a fridge? With food?"

Rose nodded. "His body part experiments are the bane of my existence. I really need to lock my door. That would at least slow him down for a few minutes while he located the key to let himself in." She shook her head and turned her attention back to the film.

Back in 221B John rolled his eyes as Sherlock practically flung himself into his arm chair and began to sulk. "I told you she'd say no. I don't understand why you keep asking. She's very serious about her fridge."

A few nights later, Rose let herself into 221B just after midnight. She was surprised to find John, who tried to sleep like a normal person, still awake and her brother nowhere in sight.

"Everything alright?" John asked, motioning her over to the couch.

She nodded and settled on the couch beside him. "Where's Sherlock?"

"Asleep for once. I'm in amazement," he admitted. "Couldn't sleep?"

"I did for a while. Had a nightmare" she admitted.

"Want to talk about it, love?"

Rose shook her head. "That's alright. But is it okay if I sit here for a little bit? I don't really want to be alone."

John wrapped his arms around her. "Want me to wake Sherlock?"

"No. This is good," Rose assured him. "I'll go back to bed in a bit."

She'd begun having nightmares about the person who was texting her and following her. While she'd never gotten a good look at the man's face, there was definitely a man stalking her. He always dressed the same and Rose saw him everywhere she went. Doorways, across the street from the Yard, around the studio. She knew she should tell someone, but with all the uproar over the recent murders, Rose didn't want to distract Sherlock or any of the police from solving the case. They were getting closer, it was really only a matter of time before the killer was well and truly caught and that was when Rose would tell him.

He nodded, kissing the top of her head. "I'm watching this awful old movie on the telly. The budget for it must have been less than one hundred pounds. Just awful, but in an amusing sort of way." John fell silent and rubbed her back soothingly as they watched the telly. Half an hour later, Rose was fast asleep him his arms.

"You're white as a sheet, do you know that?" Greg asked the following morning. "Everything alright?" He accepted his coffee from Rose, giving her a hard look as he did so. "You look just about done out."

She shook her head, giving Lestrade a brave smile. "No, I'm fine, honestly. Late night, that's all. Things are really busy right now. John's becoming quite the dancer and my competition is next month. Long days and sometimes I'm so tired I can't get to sleep as early as I should." None of that was _really_ a lie, Rose rationalized. She had just left out the more important bits!

Lestrade's eyes narrowed, making Rose squirm a bit. "I'm keeping an eye on you. I'm _not _convinced by your story. I won't object to a day off if you're in need of one, you just have to say something. So would you like to say something?"

Rose shook her head no.

The man sighed heavily, rolling his eyes upward, as if silently asking what he had done to deserve this. "Then I'll say it for you," Lestrade decided. "Get out."

"Get out?" She frowned darkly. "What does that mean?"

"It means I'm dismissing you for the day. Go home Rose. I'll not have you collapsing under my watch," Lestrade told her sternly. "Get your arse out of this building and back at Baker Street where it belongs for today. If I see you in here today, I'll…" He paused.

"You'll do what exactly?" Rose challenged, hands on her hips.

A devious smile crossed Lestrade's face. "I will call your brother."

"Sherlock never takes you that seriously, you know that," she said bluntly.

"Not the brother I had in mind."

Rose's mouth formed an 'o' in surprise for several seconds before she scowled again. "That was well played. But for the record, that was also completely unfair. You know how he overreacts."

Lestrade nodded. "So why are you still in my office, young lady? Out! Do you need an escort? I'm about to dial Mycroft right now." He reached for his mobile and then proceeded to watch in amusement as Rose hurried over to her desk, threw her coat on, and ran rather frantically in the direction of the lift. Satisfied that he had at least scared her away for the day, Lestrade decided to reach out to someone just the same. Instead of calling Mycroft, however, he decided to send a text instead.

'Dr. Watson, you've got a reluctant patient waiting at your home office.'

'Which one this time?' John responded. Lestrade could practically hear the man sigh through his text.

'The little one. I don't want her back here until she gets some sleep.'

'Get your behind in a cab and come to surgery.'

Rose rolled her eyes. At least John was a welcome change from the stalker's texts.

'No. I'm fine. Will take a nap.'

'I didn't offer you an option Rose.'

When John received no reply from his petulant patient after five minutes, he sent a text to Sherlock instead.

'Go find your sister and bring her to surgery, willing or unwilling.'

'Why? SH'

'Greg sent her home. He's worried she'll collapse.'

'On my way. SH'

Rose did not prove difficult to find. She'd followed Lestrade's instructions to return home, going straight to 221C where she curled up on her couch with a huff. Pulling the Mycroft card had been a low blow, but an effective one, she had to admit. She was searching for something interesting to watch on the telly when Sherlock let himself into the flat.

"John would like you to come to surgery. He's worried," Sherlock said, getting straight to the point.

"He's ridiculous and so is Greg," she replied with a long-suffering sigh.

His eyes narrowed as he closely examined her. "Not ridiculous at all," he decided. "Your paler than normal, the veins near your wrist aren't their normal size which indicates some dehydration, you attempted to cover the dark circles under your eyes with concealer, and I can practically see that your head aches. In short, you're exhausted and I'm going to listen to John on this one. Let's go, off to surgery." While Sherlock may not take John's protests about _his _habits seriously, namely going days without any sleep at all and forgoing eating while working on cases, this was Rose. And he wasn't going to allow his baby sister to get away with that nonsense, no matter how hypocritical that made him.

She groaned. "How can you possibly tell that my head aches?"

"You're squinting, as if your eyes hurt; also the lights are dimmer than you usually have them," Sherlock summed up. "Get your shoes and coat on; we're going to see John."

"No. I'm just going to relax here. I'm _fine _Sherlock," Rose replied firmly. She had the nagging suspicion that if she went in to surgery that John was order her to rest and she didn't have time to rest. Not with a competition coming up!

Sherlock scowled. "He said to bring you, willing or unwilling. Surely you'd prefer to walk down to a cab on your own two feet, rather than be dragged down the stairs and shoved into one."

She threw a pillow at him.

Twenty minutes later, Sherlock walked into the surgery with Rose slung over his shoulder. He completely ignored the gasps and staring of the other patients, acting as it was completely normal that he should carry someone inside in such a fashion. Rose, on the other hand, was horribly embarrassed and wished she hadn't put up such a fuss about coming in. Sherlock had been right; much better to walk on your own two feet.

"Unwilling then, I see," John murmured as they entered his office. "Put her on the exam table and go wait in the other room."

"The room with all the people?" Sherlock asked, frowning.

"Of course, where else would you go wait?"

The idea of sitting out there with all those people, particularly after carrying his sister into the building in such an outlandish fashion, was not high on Sherlock's list of things he wanted to do. In fact, it made no appearance on the list at all.

"You won't be expected to make conversation," John promised. He hid a chuckle when Sherlock fairly stormed out of the office.

"I haven't seen much of you over the last few days. I know you've been very busy with practice and such," John began as he turned his attention to his patient. "Lestrade was right, you look terrible."

"Just what every girl wants to hear," Rose replied, sighing loudly.

"You're very much like your brother in neglecting to take care of yourself and that's a bad habit to get into. If you don't take care, Rose, you really will collapse one of these days. Now stop your eye-rolling and let me examine you," John said sternly.

Deciding it was in her best interest to cooperate Rose did exactly that, hoping that John would not confine her to Baker Street for the remainder of the day.

Unfortunately for her, that was precisely what he did. "I'm writing you a script for some pills that will help you sleep, but don't take it until later on today. You need to go back home, eat a hearty meal and drink drink drink before you end up in hospital on fluids," John instructed her. "And you will rest; really rest. No more activity today, just resting and drinking."

"But I can still go to practice tonight, yeah?" Rose asked, sounding hopeful.

"Absolutely not. Not until you're better hydrated and have some good meals inside your belly," John said, shaking his head. "If you're good today and do what I tell you, you'll be just fine tomorrow to dance to your heart's content. No practice tonight, no teaching, no volunteering."

"But John! That's so unreasonable! The competition is next month," Rose whined. "I can sleep when I'm dead and I'll drink all day long I swear. And eat. I _have _to practice."

John resolutely shook his head no. "No buts. You're too much like your brother; willing to run yourself into the ground without a thought to your health."

He exited the exam room for a moment, waved Sherlock back inside. "She's to go straight home and get fluids in her and some food as well. Just rest, she shouldn't go anywhere or do anything strenuous right now. Her body isn't up for it. Can you mind her?"

When he had Sherlock's assurance that he would keep an eye on Rose and make certain his instructions were followed, John let her go with the prescription for a sleeping pill. This time, Rose walked out of the building, unwilling to exit the same way she'd entered.

His phone rang, right when he was splicing a kidney on the island in the kitchen. Sherlock scowled, removed his gloves, and looked at the screen. He didn't know the number but answered it all the same.

"Yes?"

"Is this Mr. Holmes?" A young man's voice inquired.

"Sherlock Holmes, yes. Who is this?"

"I'm Alfred, Rose's dance partner and-"

"And what is it you want?" He didn't bother to hide his exasperation, his tone fairly oozing of it.

"She's sick. Rose, she passed out and hit her head. The director called an ambulance, they're taking her to hospital," Alfred explained.

After getting the name of the hospital, Sherlock promptly hung up the phone and looked around the flat. It was just past 6pm. How had that happened? And he had just been talking to Rose!

The detective paused before groaning loudly. He'd done it again, that thing he always did with John. The 'I don't notice you've left, so I keep talking to you, paying no attention to the fact you never respond' thing that John was constantly going on about. Without intentionally doing so, he'd created the perfect scenario for Rose to sneak away right from under his nose.

Grabbing his phone again, Sherlock quickly sent a text before hurrying out of the building. 'Rose has been taken to hospital. SH'

John, in a cab on his way back to the flat, received the message and felt an overwhelming sense of frustration… and a sudden sense of camaraderie with Mycroft. God only knew what his siblings had put him through over the years. He gave the cabbie the new direction, alternately feeling concerned for Rose and absolutely infuriated with her as they headed for hospital.

'Rose is headed for hospital. SH'

'Lovely. M'

'There's moments when I feel completely unqualified to deal with her. SH'

Mycroft was taken aback by the admission. That was _so _unlike Sherlock.

'I've felt that way for years. She's never dull. M'

'Do you feel an urge to bang your head against a wall at times? SH'

'More often than I care to admit. M'

'She's too much like you. Makes it more difficult. M'

'I think you just insulted me. SH'

Mycroft chuckled as he responded. 'For what it's worth, I think you're just what she needs. M'


	12. Reprecussions

Rose was groggy, but awake when the three men descended on the hospital. They all stared at her for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not now was the time to scold and who should do said scolding.

"Didn't believe me did, you?" John finally asked. He didn't look at her as he said it. Instead, he studied her, trying to assess the damage she might have done to herself. "Hit your head, did you? Got a lovely goose egg growing on the side there," he murmured, pointing to it but not touching it.

"My head hurts," she whispered. "Nobody yell at me yet, please?"

That drew a smile from each of the men.

"So you know you're in trouble then," Sherlock concluded.

"Solves half your problem right there, brother," Mycroft told him. Convincing Rose she was actually in the wrong was sometimes half the battle of disciplining her. If she already recognized she had made a poor choice, the rest would be much easier.

"Lots and _lots _of trouble," John decided. "I'm going to tie you to your bed when we get you home." It was an empty threat.

Mycroft's eyebrow quirked. "That's really not a bad idea," he decided after a moment's thought.

Rose gave the concerned doctor a smile, recognizing his words for what they were. "How'd you all know?"

"Your partner called," Sherlock explained.

"And you clearly lost consciousness at some point if you didn't know that. Bloody good job," John grumbled.

"You're going to give the attending quite a hassle, aren't you?" Mycroft asked John with a smirk.

The attending in question arrived just then and John did indeed begin running the show with an air of authority that took the other physician by surprise.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock moved closer to the bed and leaned down to kiss her forehead. "You, my dear sister, are almost a full time job all by yourself," he commented. "No wonder poor Mycroft's hairline is receding."

"I can feel Mycroft glaring at you," Rose whispered. Her eyes were only half open, but she gave him a little smile. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Sherlock took her hand and squeezed it gently. "And so you should be. Before you ask, no, I won't be keeping you from practice, once the good doctor feels you are sufficiently recovered. But make no mistake; we'll be discussing this at length."

Rose groaned loudly, startling everyone around her, including the attending physician.

"Are you in pain?" he asked, trying to get closer to the patient and further away from John Watson.

"No, no pain. I was just informing her we were going to have a discussion about taking proper care of herself," Sherlock stated.

John snorted. "Oh, you better believe we are."

The attending, a Dr. Emerson frowned a bit before nodding. "Well, Miss Holmes, you've got a very concerned physician here in Dr. Watson. Saw you earlier today but neglected to take his advice I hear. If you would all step out, or at least step back, I'd like to examine the patient for myself."

After an IV and fluids were started, Dr. Emerson sent Rose for a scan to make certain she hadn't injured herself during her fall. It came back clean. "We're going to keep you a few hours yet. You need the fluids before you can be released," he explained to Rose. "I'll get you some food as well, since you haven't eaten in a while."

There was a collective sigh of relief from the three men.

"You see? If you'd just listened to me earlier, you wouldn't be here right now," John scolded Rose lightly. "You're a very stubborn girl, Rosenwyn Holmes. _Very _stubborn."

"Yes, she is," Mycroft agreed. He shooed John and Sherlock away from Rose for a moment, sitting beside her on the hospital bed. "How are you? Apart from that nasty bump on the head?" He reached out to push some curls out of her face.

"Okay. Really, I am. I didn't mean for this to happen," Rose said quietly.

"I know. You never do," Mycroft responded just as softly. "Will you do this to yourself again?"

"No," she assured him. "It would have been far less hassle to listen to John than come in here."

He nodded. "Good girl. Do you need me to stay? Or want me to stay?"

"I'll be alright. But… will you come by Baker Street later? If you have time that is."

Mycroft smiled, his heart warming at her question. "Of course poppet," he whispered, blushing a bit. It was disturbing to be so affectionate in the presence of other people, even if it was only Sherlock and John. In addition, it was a bit odd to be the 'gentle' person, rather than the one who would be tasked with spanking her for this nonsense. But odd in a nice way. It wasn't fun to be the growling, angry one with her all the time.

"With a present?" Rose asked, teasing him.

"No," Mycroft laughed. "An excellent try, but most definitely no."

She smiled and reached for his hand, squeezing it. "Worth a try."

"I really should return to the prime minister. He'll be happy to hear you're alright. I think he was slightly appalled that my initial reaction was to roll my eyes rather than panic. But he doesn't have you for a sister, so he could never understand," Mycroft said with a smile. "I'll stop by later. Have Sherlock text if you need me." After kissing her forehead, he departed, knowing he was leaving his sister in the best of care.

* * *

It was almost 1am before Rose was released from the hospital, with strict instructions not unlike those John had given her earlier in the day. The trio stopped to fill the script John had written before going back to Baker Street. The directive to sleep was followed quite quickly and the two men discovered she was fast asleep by the time the cab pulled up to the curb.

"Get the doors, will you?" Sherlock asked, scooping her up. Unlike the trip into surgery, he carried her in his arms rather than over his shoulder, following John up the stairs and into their flat, going right into his bedroom.

Rather than shuffle Rose around too much, Sherlock decided to give up his bed for the night rather than fix up the lie-low for her. After tucking her into the bed, he exited the room, leaving the door cracked.

While she slept, Sherlock and John began plotting her fate. "Some minder you turned out to be," John grumbled good-naturedly. "Snuck right out under your nose."

"You have to understand, I haven't lived in the same home with her in a very long time. I'm not… current in all her ways of making mischief. Getting there, but not fully current," Sherlock admitted. He almost looked a little embarrassed by that fact; or by having to admit that.

"The bigger question is: what are we going to do with her?" John asked.

"Grounding is out of the question," Sherlock stated. "I cannot, in good conscience, ground her from activities pertinent to her chosen profession, whatever Mycroft's sentiments on it."

John nodded, acknowledging the other man's point. "Forgive me if I'm out of bounds, but she needs a good, hard spanking for pulling a stunt like this. She could have seriously hurt herself when she took that fall. You don't mess about with your health, particularly when you depend on your body as much as a dancer does. She should have known better and actually _listened _for a change."

"I completely agree. And you're not at all out of bounds. In fact, I think _you _should spank her," Sherlock decided.

"Me?" The idea had certainly crossed his mind, but Rose wasn't his sister. It spoke volumes about how much Sherlock trusted him.

"She defied your instructions to rest and take care of herself, and as a result went in to hospital," he continued on as if John had never spoken. "That was very deliberate disobedience of what were very clearly communicated directives."

"She didn't listen to you either," John added.

Sherlock nodded. "I agree, but we can't both spank her. If you want your message about her health to be quite clear, John, I suggest you handle this issue. I'll deal with her decision to sneak out of the flat in an alternative fashion."

"Meaning what?"

A slow, devious smile crept across Sherlock's face. "Meaning I'm going to come up with something terribly _boring _for her to do. That will be far worse than a second spanking," he mused.

John shook his head. "This isn't going to go over well with her, is it?"

"No, and why should it? It's a punishment John." Sherlock used that 'isn't that completely obvious to you' tone as he responded. "In all likelihood, she'll be far more compliant about it after you spank her. It's perfect really. Then she gets away with nothing but isn't overly disciplined."

"Well, sounds like you have everything all straightened out then," John decided. "If you're certain you can mind her this time, I'm going to bed. I'm done in."

"Of course I can mind her," Sherlock said with a scowl. "She _is_ sleeping after all."

* * *

"Lines. You want me to write _lines, _Sherlock? That is… horrifically dull," Rose decided upon hearing their plan.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Of course that would be the one thing she'd object to. Not that he could really blame her, he would never condescend to write lines for anyone at any age, which is why it was the perfect punishment for his very thoughtless little sister.

"You're mad if you think I'm going to write you or anyone else any lines, or let him spank me," she continued on. "Absolutely not. I simply refuse on all counts." Her tone indicated that the matter was closed, at least as far as she was concerned.

Sherlock had other ideas. "I take exception to your tone," he stated, his voice dangerously low. "Great exception in fact. And if you believe I'm looking for your opinion, or doing something so foolish as to ask for your cooperation, you are sadly mistaken, my dear sister. Very. Sadly. Mistaken. You're quite lucky you didn't crack your thick skull open yesterday."

"Well I didn't, so what is the fuss about then?" Rose asked. She calmly sipped her orange juice, watching Sherlock and John closely as she did so, before putting the glass down. There was only so far she could push Sherlock, and even she knew that.

"My god, you are a stubborn little idiot, aren't you?" Sherlock grumbled.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Stop it Rosenwyn!" Sherlock shouted. "You will not mess around with your health! Bloody fine dancer you'll make if you collapse at your competition because you're too stubborn to listen to anyone else, including a _doctor_. You seemed so remorseful last night, was that all just an act?"

Rose sighed. "No."

"What changed then?"

"I got better."

John's mouth dropped open. Sherlock was going to strangle her, right in front of him. He was absolutely certain of it when Sherlock stood up from his chair. "Sherlock! Sherlock, don't do anything rash!"

Sherlock ignored his flat mate, stalked across the room, and hauled Rose up from the couch by her arm. "_Why _are you being such a childish little brat?" he demanded, punctuating each word with a hard smack to her behind.

"Ow! Ow! Sherlock no!" Rose squealed, putting a hand back to try and shield her bum.

"Move. Your. Hand."

She shook her head no, making a little whining noise as she did so. Even with her robe and pajamas on, that had hurt!

"I've come at a bad time, haven't I?" Mycroft asked as he stood in the doorway.

Rose took advantage of Sherlock's surprise and scurried away from him, going straight into the bedroom and slamming the door behind her. Sherlock made to go after her, but Mycroft held up a hand. "Allow me."

"Rosenwyn Aramantha, come back in this room _immediately_," Mycroft ordered, his tone steely. Sherlock flinched a bit at hearing it. That tone never boded well for anyone.

Rose, however, did not emerge.

"If I have to come in there and drag you back out, I promise that you will regret it most sincerely."

The bedroom door cracked open. "Why?" Rose asked carefully.

Mycroft's eyebrow rose. "Come here. Right here." He pointed to a spot on the carpet in front of him. "_Now._"

Much to John's amazement, Rose did precisely that. She didn't look happy about it, but she'd done it just the same.

"Explain your behavior."

Rose opened her mouth to answer, and then swiftly closed it, as if trying to decide what she should tell Mycroft. "I'd rather not," she finally responded in a soft tone.

"You'd rather not," he repeated. "Meaning that you are fully aware the behavior you were displaying was unacceptable and you do not have an excuse for it, correct?"

She nodded, her eyes fixated on the floor.

"Being an adult entails accepting responsibility for ones actions, not having fits of pique like a five-year-old," Mycroft lectured. "Are you going to stop this nonsense and not put up such a fuss with Sherlock?"

Again, she nodded.

"Then you have something to say, don't you?"

This time Rose actually looked up as she turned towards her brother and John. "I'm sorry for being argumentative. I'll be good," she promised.

"Excellent. Now find a corner and occupy it. Without any whining," Mycroft added.

Sighing inwardly, Rose went to the corner near the bookshelves, completely missing John's look of astonishment as she did so. Despite himself, John was incredibly impressed.

"Clearly, she's feeling much better," Mycroft stated. "But I think I'll come back later for a visit. Good luck gentlemen." With that being said, he took his leave.

"Would you like to come speak reasonably with me now?" Sherlock asked after Mycroft departed.

"Yes," Rose responded. When Sherlock released her from the corner, she went straight to him, letting him pull her onto his lap.

"I hate it when Mycroft has that tone," she sighed.

"Me too," Sherlock admitted, hugging her tightly. "Shall we start over?"

"Please. Just don't expect me to be thrilled, alright?"

He chuckled. "Of course not. Now, as I was trying to tell you before, it was really John you defied, much more so than me. He's a doctor and when he gives you directives about your health, you need to listen to them. If you don't, there's no reason why he shouldn't spank you for disobeying him and not caring for yourself. He cares about you too, you know."

Rose sighed and nodded. "I know."

"But since you did sneak out rather than rest as I asked you to do, which is why you'll be writing lines. Because it's horribly boring and you'll make sure you never have to write lines again. Admit it, it's effective that way," Sherlock told her. "Two hundred lines, sitting on a chair, _after _your spanking. I'll come up with something suitable for you to copy."

"That's the part that bothers me the most. Chairs are hard," she pointed out. "That's going to be painful and two hundred lines will take ages."

"I know, and that's rather the point," he replied. "And if you don't behave, then you can do them while sitting on your bare bum _plus_ get a spanking from me. I'm sure you'd rather avoid all that."

"I would, very much so," Rose admitted.

"Then stop being ridiculous, will you?" Sherlock's tone was light, but earnest. "Things always go better when you cooperate and I wouldn't let John have at you if I didn't trust him completely. You don't think he's going to injure you, do you?"

She shook her head. "Of course not. It's just… embarrassing. You're my brother and he isn't."

"But he is someone that cares about you," he countered. "And if it's a bit embarrassing, maybe that will be added incentive to take better care of yourself, don't you think?"

"I hate it when you're right," Rose grumbled.

Sherlock's mobile went off and he kissed the top of her head before looking at it. "There's been another one. Lestrade wants me at the crime scene. This is bad timing."

John frowned. "Does that mean there's a good time to be murdered?"

Rolling his eyes, the detective nudged Rose off his lap before standing up. "Be good for John. I'll be back when I can. Get her started on those lines if necessary." This last was directed at John right before Sherlock hurried down the stairs to hail a cab.

Rose and John let out sighs simultaneously, prompting her to giggle just a bit.

"Let's sit on the couch," John decided. "I want to talk to you. Just talk for now," he added knowing Sherlock often made references to 'discussions' that weren't really discussions at all. He moved to the couch and waved her over, smiling when she complied.

"I know what all that fuss was about," he said quietly. "It had nothing to do with getting spanked, did it? You expected that, am I right?"

"Yes. I don't think I like it when you're right anymore than I like it when Sherlock is," Rose said, giving him a small smile.

John gave her an encouraging smile in return. "You were nervous and didn't know how to say it."

Rose nodded, looking down at the couch cushion that separated them.

"Sherlock and Mycroft have been smacking your behind all your life. They can't do much to surprise you anymore. Routine, or consistency, can be really comforting. I, on the other hand, just smacked you over that issue when you were grounded and it really wasn't a proper spanking. More a spur of the moment, just wanting to make a point," John mused.

"How'd you know?" she asked, looking up at him.

"You're not really much of a tantrum thrower. Oh, you get plenty stroppy at times, just like Sherlock, but this was different. This was well on its way to being an all-out tantrum. So I asked myself, why would she tantrum now, when she really hasn't before? The fact that it was me was the only difference."

"You're much smarter at times then Sherlock gives you credit for," Rose decided. "I wasn't sure Sherlock would really understand if I tried to tell him and I also didn't want to say it in front of you and hurt your feelings, because it's not as if I'm afraid of you."

John smiled. "That's very good to hear. It wouldn't have hurt my feelings, had you explained this to Sherlock in front of me. I'm quite sure that would have been much easier than being hauled off the couch for some smacks and then called to task by Mycroft."

"That was an unfortunate moment," she sighed. "Embarrassing. I hate it when he gets that tone. The 'you better do what I say right now or there's a paddle in my desk with your name on it.' Must not have had it with him though, since he left. I was glad of that; that thing bloody hurts. I'd really prefer not to be howling like a baby." Her cheeks went pink as she admitted that to him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. "Can't blame you there. Not that you're getting out of a spanking with me, miss. I can't believe you went off like that last night. You could have given yourself head trauma. I was frightened for you, when Sherlock sent me that text saying you'd been taken to hospital."

"I wish I had listened. It really was rather frightening. I was dancing and then I got so dizzy and Alfred helped me over to the side, got me some water and then I don't remember anything else. I must have passed out completely and hit my head on the table on my way down," Rose speculated.

John pinched the bridge of his nose, trying hard not to think of her head bouncing off a table and then smacking hard on the floor. Unfortunately, the nose pinch didn't work. "Well," he said after a moment. "Do you have any questions about why you're getting a spanking? Or how it's going to go?"

She looked down at the couch cushion again. "What are you going to use?" Rose was pretty certain she wasn't going to get away with something like this with only a hand spanking.

"That's… a really good question actually," John admitted, frowning.

"Wait, you don't know? That's a really bad answer. You're not very good at this," Rose decided, unable to keep from giggling just a bit.

He rolled his eyes. "Why don't you go find yourself a corner again while I figure that out," he decided. "Think about how you're going to take care of yourself from now on."

With a huff, Rose got up and did as he asked, heading over to the corner by the bookshelf.

John got up from the couch, trying to formulate a plan. Why had he asked her if she had questions if _he _didn't even know what he was going to do yet? He'd expected her to say no and one should always expect the unexpected from a Holmes!

This was far too serious to use just his hand, it really was. And, if he made the message clear now, John felt certain they could avoid future issues. He wandered into the kitchen, feeling certain he could find something there that would be appropriate; after all, his mother always had!

Rose fidgeted in the corner, wanting to turn around and see what John was doing, yet resisted the urge to do so; barely.

Opening a drawer of cooking utensils, a black spatula caught John's eye. It had a good, wide flat surface and might work just fine. To test it, he smacked his own palm with it. It stung and he shook his hand afterwards. Yep, that would do it.

"Alright love, let's get this taken care of," John called, returning to the couch. He sat in the middle and put the spatula down beside him as Rose made her way back over. "I'm going to use this," he explained, gesturing to the spatula. "Not the whole time, but I think it'll really drive the point home."

"Now you sound like you know what you're doing. I should have kept my mouth shut," Rose admitted with a sigh.

"Alright, over my knee, miss." John helped her across his lap then made quick work of pulling her pajama bottoms down to her knees.

"Nooooo," Rose whined, even as she attempted to settle herself into a reasonably comfortable position.

"Yes," John said sternly, using his Captain Watson tone once more. "Your brother told me to give you a proper spanking and in this case, I've no qualms about doing just that. You were completely reckless with your health and risked being seriously injured. If you can't be bothered to remember to sleep properly or help your body function with proper water and food intake, I'm more than happy to provide you with a reason to do so."

With that being said, John cracked his hand down on her bottom at a rapid fire pace. He kept an arm wrapped around her waist, anticipating that she'd squirm or even kick at some point and he was determined she not be able to wriggle off his lap.

"Oww!" Rose yelped. She had wanted to take her spanking with as much stoicism and bravery as she could muster, but right from the start Rose knew that was a losing battle. The swats were completely unpredictable, sometimes smacking one spot and moving on or smacking the same spot three or four times before continuing elsewhere. It didn't take long at all before she was shifting uncomfortably over his knee, struggling to keep from yelling out with each spank.

John did his best to block out her yelps as he spanked, determined to give her the spanking she was due, no matter how much noise she made. He kept up the fast pace, intending to make her bottom far redder than it was at that moment, before he'd use the spatula to drive the message home. He held on tight as Rose's shifting began outright squirming as she struggled to move her bottom out of the line of fire. Unfortunately, he held her tightly enough that she wasn't going anywhere.

"John! Ow! Ow! Pleeeeease! John, please! I'll be good!" Rose pleaded. Her breath was beginning to hitch, indicating she was close to tears, but still he kept spanking her. She was certain he'd never stop, finally breaking down in tears when the heat and sting became completely unbearable.

He paused, deciding to give her a short break before moving on to the spatula. "I know you'll be good," John soothed, rubbing her back. "I know you'll think twice before you do something so silly again or disobey me again, won't you?"

She nodded her agreement that oh yes, she would very much think twice about it! One hand went back to shield her cheeks while she pleaded with him once more.

"No, we're not quite finished. Almost, but not quite," John told her sadly. He'd love to stop and cuddle her close to dry her tears. Yet he knew that he wouldn't accomplish anything if he ended it prematurely. "Take a couple deep breaths."

As Rose did some deep breathing, John caught her hand and held it to the small of her back before tugging her panties down to her knees. Her crying reached new volumes as he did so and his resolve almost broke. He forced himself to think once more of Rose's head hitting the table and then bouncing off the ground. With that in mind, he picked up the spatula and began snapping it down on her reddened cheeks.

Her squirming began once more and she even kicked her legs now in response to the sting. Who would have thought it would be so effective? Rose howled and cried while he spanked her quite soundly with the kitchen utensil. John mentally counted out thirty hearty smacks and then dropped the spatula on the floor. Her bum was practically scarlet, from crest to sit spots, and John winced in sympathy.

"Alright, it's all done now," John said, hoping she could hear him over her tears. Now that he was done punishing her, it was time to comfort her. "You were so brave sweetheart, so brave," he praised, rubbing her back. "I'm so proud of you. I know that was as nasty one, but you did so well."

Taking great care not to further irritate her well spanked backside, he eased her panties and pajama bottoms back up before helping her up from his lap. Rose was still crying rather hard and immediately began to rub her sore cheeks once she was on her feet. Deciding they were far too sore for rubbing to do much good, she leaned against John, pressing her face against his shoulder as she continued to cry.

If he thought he felt badly last time, when it had been a simple smacking over her panties, John really felt like a heel now. Knowing that she had most definitely deserved this spanking didn't make her tears any easier to hear. "Alright love, let's have some cuddles," he decided.

With little thought for his shoulder, John picked Rose up and carried her into Sherlock's bedroom, intending to cuddle her as he had last time. Leaning back against the headboard, he settled Rose against him, hugging her tightly.

Snuggled as close as she possibly could, Rose continued to cry as she soaked up the cuddles. "Shhh, shhh, it'll be alright," John assured her. "You were such a good girl. I know that was hard, but you were so brave. I'm so proud of you, love. So very proud. I know you're a good girl. Deep breaths now, come on. You're going to sick up if you don't stop crying, love," he pointed out.

Rose took several deep breaths, calming herself as John continued to cuddle her tight. "There you go, that's my girl. Good job. Take a few more now," he encouraged. "Alright, you're okay. We're done, I promise." He began stroking her hair, feeling incredibly relieved when she stopped crying. Taking a handkerchief out, he began drying her face.

"You look so sleepy," John chuckled. "Wore yourself right out."

"Ow," Rose whimpered. "It really hurts."

He kissed the top of her head. "I know, love. I'll give you some arnica cream again later on. Right now, just close your eyes and try to sleep."

"Don't go," she said firmly. "Please don't go, please don't stop."

"Stop cuddling you? Not a chance. I'm staying right here," he promised. John began humming quietly, stroking her hair once more. It was no surprise she was so tired. Her body was still catching up on sleep and she'd expended a lot of energy during that spanking! Before long, he could tell she was fast asleep, though he stayed with her for a while longer.

Once he was entirely certain she was asleep and wouldn't wake up for a while, John eased himself off the bed and tucked Rose in before leaving her to sleep. There were plenty of hours left in the day for writing lines. For now, she needed her sleep.


	13. Lines and Letters

"Mycroft!" Rose squealed in delight. She hopped up from her chair and ran over to her brother, throwing her arms around him.

The brother in question was caught very off guard and hesitated slightly before wrapping his arms around her. "That is quite the welcome Rose. I don't think you've _ever _greeted me with such enthusiasm."

Sherlock stalked across the sitting room and took a firm hold on Rose's ear, pinching hard and tugged on it. "Don't flatter yourself Mycroft," he grumbled. "Back to the chair and back to your lines," he directed Rose, pulling her by her ear across the sitting room and into the kitchen. Sherlock added a few good smacks to her bottom along the way.

"Ow! No! Ow!" Rose protested, allowing herself to be taken back to the kitchen.

Once inside the kitchen, Sherlock released her ear and took her chin in his hand, forcing her to look at him. "This. Will. Stop. Immediately," he growled. "If you get up just one more time, I will spank you, set the lines you've completed on fire and make you start all over again. Am I making myself clearly understood to you, Rosenwyn?"

Set her lines on fire? The very idea of it was ridiculous, but Rose didn't dare laugh. "Yes, yes you are Sherlock, I promise," she promptly responded. "I'll be good, I swear."

Sherlock released her chin and stood there towering over her, arms crossed over his chest, watching as she eased herself onto the chair with a wince before turning away.

"Having a delightful afternoon I see," Mycroft quipped, taking a seat on the couch.

"You don't know the half of it. You truly don't," Sherlock said, returning to his chair and flopping into it. "You were just now her latest excuse to get up from that chair before she finishes her lines. For the last ninety or so minutes it's been "I need to use the loo" or "I was just hungry!" as if no one else was here in the flat and could get her some damn biscuits. Then it was "Shall I make everyone a cuppa?" and "My legs are cramping." John fell for that one," he grumbled.

"I won't ever again," John vowed.

Mycroft watched this entire exchange take place and then began laughing; and laughing; and _laughing_. When he finished his hysterical outburst, he found both John and Sherlock glaring darkly at him. "My apologies," he muttered after clearing his throat.

"Sherlock, can you come here? Please?" Rose called out hesitantly. Given her brother's present mood, and the fact that she was the cause of it, there was good reason to be hesitant.

Letting out a sigh, Sherlock crossed the room and looked down at her.

"I'm being completely serious here, not mucking around," she began. "I can't… It hurts so bad. I can't keep sitting here for so long. That's why I keep getting up, not just to be a pain and drive you mad. Please, _please _can I have a cushion? I promise I won't get up again for anything short of the flat being on fire if you'll just let me have one."

"I told you to give her one," John added from the sitting room. "And I've told you the last 90 minutes she'd stop all that if you gave her one."

"You promise?" Sherlock said seriously. "You won't say a word and stay right here and finish your lines?" When she nodded, he relented and let her up to find a cushion for the chair.

An hour later Rose finished her lines without further incident. It was very unclear who, exactly, was most thrilled by that fact, Sherlock or Rose. "Anyone want a cuppa?" Rose asked. "I can make one now, right?"

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, you're released. We all feel an in exorbitant amount of joy at the completion of your task."

"Not from resting! You're still resting today," John clarified. "If you want to dance tomorrow, that is."

Mycroft couldn't help smirking at the whole lot of them. It was all very amusing when you weren't the one having to play Rose's keeper!

It was well after 2am that night before Sherlock crawled into his bed. Throwing the covers over himself haphazardly, adjusting his pillow just how he liked it, the man closed his eyes, intent on getting a few hours sleep; hours he hoped wouldn't be interrupted by Lestrade with another body. He wasn't sure how long he had laid there, eyes closed, sleep descending upon him before he heard it.

"Sherlock. Sherlock?" A sleepy voiced called out.

It was, of course, none other than Rose, who had been asleep on the lie-low when he'd come in. Or at least he'd thought she was.

"What?" he answered back.

"You asleep?"

Sherlock frowned. What sort of question was that? "Yes," he answered firmly.

There was a little pause before he heard her speak again. "Good, I want to talk to you."

The room went silent again for a moment. "Fine, come up here then," he relented.

Getting up from the lie-low, since both Sherlock and John had insisted she stay so they could ensure she rested, Rose sat on his bed, leaning against a pillow, looking at him with sleepy eyes.

"I thought you were asleep," he murmured.

"You woke me up."

"Then why did you ask if I was awake?"

"Well, it had been a few minutes. You could have been sleeping by then," Rose rationalized.

"Oh Rose," Sherlock said tiredly. "What did you want to talk to me about?"

"About earlier."

"Define earlier."

"Earlier when I was writing lines."

Sherlock could hear the hesitation in her voice, as if she wasn't entirely certain she wanted to bring that up again. "I remember that portion of the day vividly."

Rose sighed. "That's why I wanted to talk about it."

"Go on then," he encouraged quietly.

"I'm sorry; _really _sorry. I shouldn't have done all that mucking about," Rose responded just as quietly.

Sherlock reached out with one arm and drew her close, hugging her tightly. "I appreciate your apology," he responded, kissing the top of her head.

"I'm not even sure why I did all that, other than it hurt to sit. Although I really _was _hungry that one time. Would you really have set my lines on fire?"

The man chuckled, his rich baritone laugh rumbling quietly in the room. "You'll never know! And I believe you know precisely why you did it, sore bottom aside. Think hard, Rosie, you'll figure it out."

The room fell quiet as she thought about it. "Why don't you tell me," she decided. "It's late, I can't think that hard."

"I think you just don't _want_ to think about it," Sherlock told her. "But I'll spare you and say it anyway. You were punishing me."

"Huh?"

"You really are tired, aren't you?" Sherlock laughed. "Tired, but determined to make amends. But as I said, you were punishing me. You wanted to make it so absolutely maddening for me that I would decide it was far more torturous for me than it was for you and never make you write lines again."

Rose let out a little giggle. "That's… brilliant. I had no idea I was being so brilliant."

"No, you were just trying to be an obnoxious brat," Sherlock countered. "But there is a level of brilliance about that strategy. Didn't work with me though, did it?"

"No. I was disappointed," Rose admitted. "Because my bum really hurt."

"Sadly, you weren't the first person to come up with that plan. I did that to Mycroft ages ago. Worked with him. He was more ready to throw his hands in the air with me than he is with you," Sherlock admitted. "Because you're a girl."

"What's wrong with being a girl?" she demanded, sounding sleepier by the syllable.

"Nothing at all. Men just have inherent instincts to protect women, particularly those they are related to. Mycroft wouldn't forgive himself if he threw his hands in the air with you and then something bad happened," he tried to explain. "And I'm not entirely sure you're even listening to me anymore."

"I am," Rose assured him. "I'm resting my eyes."

Sherlock snorted indignantly. "Of _course _you are," he drawled. He laid there in silence for a moment, just cuddling her close. "Will you ever tell me where you went when you were away?" Perhaps it wasn't entirely fair to question Rose when she was clearly sleepy, but she rarely talked about it and he was dying of curiosity.

"Nowhere special," she murmured, moving to rest her head against his chest. "It wasn't always fun," Rose admitted. "Learned a lot though, 'bout myself."

"Hmm. What made you come home?" Not that he wasn't happy to have her back, ecstatic about it in fact, but Sherlock was interested in her response.

"Couldn't stay away anymore."

"Why not?"

"Needed you… and My, too. Missed you." Rose yawned, closing her eyes once more.

His heart swelled at her words. It was nice to be needed by someone. Perhaps she'd been away just long enough to realize how much she wanted and loved her family, as aggravating as Mycroft could be. He, of course, was the perfect brother, Sherlock thought with a smirk.

"Go back to your lie-low and let me sleep," Sherlock decided. "You and I both need to sleep. Someday, when you're ready, I want to hear all about your adventures; the good and the bad. Now, off my bed, brat."

His request was met by complete silence. "Did you seriously just fall asleep _while _I was speaking to you?" he murmured. "Oh yes, you are most definitely asleep." With a put-upon sigh, Sherlock got out of bed to carry Rose back to the lie-low. Tucking her in once more, even though she wouldn't know if he didn't, he kissed her forehead and went back to bed.

The following morning, Rose checked her phone for the first time since she'd collapsed. While she'd hoped that there wouldn't be any further texts, Rose knew that there would be. And were there ever! Her mobile's mailbox was completely full. Scrolling through them, she shuddered a bit as she watched the tone of them change from the odd statement about her to more demanding texts to wear a certain color, or look for him somewhere, or think of him when she did something.

By now she realized that this wasn't just a joke or someone being funny, or even someone texting the wrong person as she had originally believed to be the case. Rose knew this wasn't good, not at all, but still she hesitated about telling anyone. Sherlock and Lestrade needed to solve those murders before there were more young women killed. How could she take their attention away, when it might cost another person their life?

No, Rose thought, shaking her head. She just couldn't do that. What she could do, however, was figure out how to block the number from her mobile. It took a few minutes to determine how to do it, but finally she enabled the block of that number, and let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. With that accomplished, she slipped her mobile into her jeans pocket and left for Scotland Yard.

"Ah, my coffee. How I've missed you in the mornings macchiato," Lestrade commented, reaching for the drink in Rose's hand.

"Nice, greet the coffee and not me," she snickered, holding it out of range.

"Glad to have you back," he said sincerely. "May I have my drink now?"

"I'm not certain you deserve it. I'm still deciding," Rose explained. "After all, you tattled on me."

Lestrade rolled his eyes. "You _needed _to be tattled on. And I heard about that trip to hospital, so clearly I was right. Do you think I want your brother to murder me in my sleep? No ma'am. I'll tattle on you anytime I feel it's in my best interest."

Rose tried very, very hard to look at him sternly, but that last commented made her laugh. "Fine, fine. Your concern is duly noted." Handing over the drink, she plopped into one of the chairs in front of his desk.

"In all seriousness, you're doing better now, yeah? You look better; got some color in your cheeks again," Lestrade commented.

"Much better," Rose promised. "And happy to be back. Resting is _boring._"

"Sound just like your brother when you say 'boring' that way," he decided with a chuckle. "I'm going to keep an eye on you though, make certain I don't work you too hard. I know you've got other commitments. So speak up if you need a break or a day off, alright? I didn't put any certain timeframe on completing your hours."

"I appreciate that," she told him sincerely. "I really do, especially after all the trouble I made for you."

"You've been working hard to make up for it, and I appreciate that very much," Lestrade replied, giving her a smile. After handing over a flash drive and a stack of handwritten papers that needed to be typed, he directed her to the desk she'd been using.

When four o'clock rolled around, Rose made her trip to the coffee shop down the block. The officers were thrilled that she was back and that they could count on her for that afternoon pick-up me up they often desperately needed! Holding her coat tightly against the wind, Rose entered the shop and looked around. Spotting Louise, she waved and waited in line for the register.

"Feeling better?" Louise asked when Rose reached her to place the orders.

"Yes, finally. My keepers released me this morning," Rose told her, rolling her eyes. "Say, I don't see Mark anywhere. Day off?" It was strange not to see him there as usual.

"He was in a right foul mood today," Louise admitted quietly. "The manager finally asked him what was the matter and he told her he wasn't feeling well. She dismissed him for the day, a couple hours back. Will you be able to get these all back to the Yard alright? I could ask for a few minutes to help you."

"That's too bad about Mark. I hope he feels better soon. And if you can be spared, I would really like your help. I don't think I can manage them all this time, there are fourteen of them," Rose admitted with a giggle. "And I hate to ask for an officer to come down and help me bring them back."

Louise smiled and hurried off to speak with the manager, who readily gave her consent. "The Yard's become our best customers, and you're a regular too," the manager told Rose. "Can't promise it every day, but today you can have Louise if you send her right back."

"I will, I promise! Thank you so much, I really appreciate it," Rose promised.

When the order was finally ready, the two girls left the shop and walked back up the block. Louise insisted on bringing her half of the drinks up to the proper floor and Rose readily relented, certain Lestrade wouldn't mind.

"You bringing back strays now from the coffee shop?" Lestrade asked with a smile.

"No! Louise bravely volunteered to help me bring everything back and is just here for a second," Rose assured him.

Lestrade held out his hand. "Detective Inspector Lestrade."

"Louise Gardner, nice to meet you," Louise said, shaking his hand. "I've got to get back to the shop. See you at the studio Rose?"

"Yes! I'll be there with whistles and bells," Rose assured her. The girls embraced before Louise headed back to the lift.

"I hope it was alright she came up. There were more coffee orders than I thought I could handle and my regular helper wasn't working today," Rose explained to Lestrade.

Lestrade shook his head. "No, no, that's quite alright, in and out like that. Thanks for making the run." He gave her a smile before disappearing in his office once more.

John Watson opened the door of the dance studio and stood there in the doorway. He wasn't even fully inside the building, and it already felt awkward. It hadn't before, when Rose had booked a room for them to practice, but this was different.

"Hello! May I help you?" A female voice asked. John looked to his right and discovered someone was sitting at the reception desk. He entered the studio fully, letting the door shut behind him.

"I'm John Watson, Dr. John Watson. One of my patients is a dancer here, Rose Holmes?" John started.

"Oh yes, Rose! Gave us a fright when she took ill a few nights back," the young woman stated. "I'm Jeanne, by the way. Um, so are you here to just make sure she's alright?"

"Nice to meet you," John responded politely. "And yes. I'd sort of prefer she didn't know I was here. Doesn't like being hovered over." Oh yes, this was very, very awkward.

"Oh that's no problem! There's a small viewing room attached to the studio she's in. Not sound proofed, mind you, but unless you're loud, she won't even notice you're there. Window's real small," Jeanne assured him. "This way, if you'll follow me. Rose has an audience tonight I guess. It's nice."

"An audience?" he asked.

Jeanne opened the door to the viewing room, revealing Sherlock, who was already seated and keeping an eye on his sister.

"You too," Sherlock commented.

John nodded and took a seat on the bench where Sherlock sat. "I was worried. Her first day back and I don't want her to overwork herself."

"She's done well so far. Had a snack, drank quite a bit. Don't talk too loudly, she won't notice us if we don't make any noise. I'm not certain she'd appreciate our presence," Sherlock admitted.

"That's why we didn't ask, isn't it?"

Sherlock smirked. "Indeed."

The men fell silent as Rose cued up the music and got into hold with her partner Alfred. The two began gliding over the floor, or so it seemed to the spectators.

"Wow," John murmured. "That's really fast paced and intricate." He knew his comment sounded ridiculous, and not just because Sherlock let out one of _those _sighs, but he was genuinely intrigued. "What song is it they're using?"

"Quickstep; has to be fast. They've been working on this since I arrived and it looks better every time," Sherlock admitted. "They have to remain in that hold once they assume it, and there are a requisite number of runs and step sequences that should be included in the choreography.

"The song, I believe, is by Ella Fitzgerald, which I'm certain pleases Rose to no end. Typically, those in charge of competitions provide the music in advance so the dancers can choreograph and, in theory, be perfect by the time of the competition."

"Has Mycroft seen this? Seen how good she is? Because this is bloody impressive," John stated emphatically. He'd been impressed by Rose's talent during his own lessons, but watching her dance like that, practically float across the floor and move precisely to the music, was a whole other level of impressive.

Sherlock shook his head. "No. I believe the last time he saw her dance was a recital when she was thirteen. She's improved since then, significantly, and I can tell she kept up with things while she was away. They paired her quite well with this Alfred fellow. He's not too tall, but tall enough to compliment her height. How she ended up so much smaller than Mycroft and I, I haven't a clue."

When they finished their run through the dance, Rose and Alfred stopped for a drink break. Or at least that was their intention, until the sound of loud clapping could be heard coming from someone.

"I think we've got an audience. Know those blokes?" Alfred asked, gesturing to the viewing room window.

There was John, clapping enthusiastically, and Sherlock, still seated, rolling his eyes.

"I do," Rose said with a sigh. She was a bit embarrassed and could feel a blush on her face.

"Want to go say hello? We're due for a bit of a break," Alfred pointed out.

"I suppose." Rose led the way out of the studio and to the viewing room door, opening it and sighing exasperatedly at the two men inside. "I. Am. Fine. Promise!"

"We're aware," Sherlock drawled. "But still concerned."

Rolling her eyes, she ushered Alfred into the room. "These are my keepers," she told him. "My brother Sherlock, and his flat mate, John Watson."

"Alfred Mellor, pleasure to meet you both." The young man extended his hand and shook both Sherlock and John's hands. "Are you the one sending 'round a car for Rose at night, Mr. Holmes?" he asked.

Sherlock shook his head. "No, that would be our eldest brother."

"I've been glad of it. We work quite late and I wouldn't feel right taking the tube home if Rose wasn't situated," Alfred admitted.

John beamed at Rose. "I like him," he decided.

"We're taking plenty of breaks now, too. It was quite a shock when she passed out the other night. It's better for us both to take care of ourselves," Alfred added. "So try not to worry on that account, yeah? I'll take good care of her while she's here. That's what partners do, right?" He looked at Rose for confirmation.

The girl in question's face was getting quite red, but she nodded her agreement just the same.

"Alright, I _really _like him. Well done, Alfred," John congratulated the young man. He chuckled when Alfred began blushing as well.

"Never mind us," Sherlock stated, deciding to end Rose's torture. "Is Mycroft coming later?"

"No, he's busy, but he's sending his car. You two can leave, I'll be fine. Honestly!" Rose insisted.

Sherlock nodded his agreement. "We will. I'm satisfied. Are you satisfied John?"

"Yes," John confirmed. "Keep up the good work Alfred!"

"They seem quite nice," Alfred decided after the two men had left.

"Yeah, they are. When they aren't obnoxious and overprotective anyway," Rose agreed. "Back to it, yeah?"

A few hours later, Rose was dropped off at Baker Street by Mycroft's driver. She was sweaty and exhausted, but it had been a fantastic practice. They were going to be absolutely perfect by competition, she was sure of it! At least with their quickstep; the waltz and tango needed a bit more work.

Putting her key into the mailbox, Rose retrieved her mail for the day before heading up the stairs. She knocked briefly on the door of 221B before opening it and stepping inside. "I'm home," Rose announced. "You two were embarrassing, you know that? Please don't come 'round and do that again."

Sherlock smirked. "Make certain you stay in good health then. I won't have to worry that way. Or at least not about that." He was certain there would always be something he'd have to worry about where Rose was concerned.

"Alfred seems like a nice fellow," John piped up.

"He is," Rose agreed. "But don't be so… enthusiastic about it, alright? This is a dance partnership, not a romance or drama on the telly or something. But anyway, I just wanted to say I was home. I'm off to take a shower and go to bed." After bidding them goodnight, Rose returned to her flat.

Before heading for the shower, she decided to look through her mail. A pale blue envelope caught her eye and she examined it: her name and address in block lettering, no return address. Frowning a bit, Rose opened it and a single sheet of notebook paper fell out. Unfolding it, she read the brief missive: How dare you?

Feeling more than a little frightened, she quickly shoved the note back into the envelope and put it into the top drawer of her desk.


	14. The Breaking Point

The letters had been coming daily for two weeks. They were always in the same pale blue envelope with no return address, written in block letters. Each time, there was only one line in the letter, alternating between being threatening and attempting to be romantic.

Do you think you're above me?

I can make you love me.

Don't you want me?

We'll be together forever.

Every night, Rose opened the letter to read it before sticking it into the desk drawer. She had almost told Sherlock about them, a number of times over the last two weeks, but she just couldn't bring herself to. Three more women had been found murdered, bringing the total to seven. Rose couldn't distract him or John, or Lestrade.

Nothing bad is going to happen, she kept trying to reassure herself. As soon as the murders were solved, Rose vowed to tell her brother about the letters and let him sort it out. Telling Mycroft wasn't even a possibility, she admitted to herself, because he would overreact and insist she move back home where he could scrutinize her every move while he solved the matter. No, everything would be fine so long as she took reasonable precaution.

"Alright girls, we are all done for today! Everyone did fantastic work, I'm so proud of you," Rose told her ballet class that Friday afternoon. A dozen 3-5 year old aspiring ballerinas smiled at their teacher and scurried out of the room. A couple of them stayed back and John watched from the side of the room as the little girls took their turns having a hug. A chorus of "Bye, Miss Rose!" rang out when the two stragglers went on their way.

"That was adorable," John said out loud. The smile on his face quickly turned to a frown when Rose gasped, spun around, and looked like she'd seen a ghost. "You're _really _jumpy lately," he pointed out needlessly.

"I'm sorry. I didn't see you come in at all," Rose admitted, her face flushing. "Gave me a fright." She crossed the room to where he stood and picked up her water bottle from the table beside him.

"Is everything alright?"

John's tone was quite serious and it made Rose's stomach clench a bit. No, everything was not in fact ok. "Yes, I'm fine," she assured him.

He gave her a stern look. "You'd tell me if something was wrong, yeah?" When she nodded, John continued. "Promise?"

"Promise," Rose said softly.

"That's my girl," John said with an affectionate smile.

"Now, are you ready for your last lesson? A refresher on everything we've covered?" Rose asked, trying to turn the conversation somewhere else as quickly as possible.

"Very ready. I'm so glad I won't embarrass Sarah tomorrow night." He sounded genuinely relieved and that made her smile.

"You are a dancer, John Watson. Get used to that fact. All the girls will be jealous, I'm certain of it. Now, let's run that waltz first."

They worked hard for just over two hours, before Rose called it a night. "Let's get home," she decided. "I'm ready to have a night in. Or as much of a night in as I can get, considering it's already 8pm."

"Have you eaten? We should get takeaway," John suggested.

"Sherlock can fend for himself," she decided suddenly. "I could use a treat rather than a meal, and I know the perfect place. If we can manage to get there before it closes!"

"You have _never _experienced a cupcake like this," Rose assured John. They climbed the stairs and entered 221B, heading straight for the kitchen.

"They look very good," John admitted, watching her open the box of cupcakes ever so carefully. "How did you find that cake shop?"

"A university friend's mum owns it. We haven't seen each other in an age. Got banned," Rose explained. "Get some plates, please?"

"Banned? Banned from a friend?" he asked.

"Okay more like forbidden. Strictly forbidden. I was not going to cross either of my brothers after that one time I was out all night. I should have made a plea for the police to protect me when Sherlock finally located me. Sadly, he brought them with him, so I doubt it would have done much good. Mycroft made me a virtual prisoner at home; or more of one than usual," Rose admitted with a sigh.

"I think I'd like to hear this story sometime," John told her. "Do you ever see this friend anymore?"

"Here and there, not too often. I should really look Beth up now that I'm back and have my own place. Mycroft can hardly order me to stay away from people in my own house; not that I wouldn't put it past him to try it just the same."

Rose carefully removed his cupcake and put it on the plate. "Chocolate butter cream is so plain. Where is your sense of adventure?"

"Plain? Do you see all this frosting, miss? That's the best part, the gobs of frosting," John retorted. "I'm not impressed with your chocolate mint concoction."

"Good, then I don't have to share with you." Rose stuck her tongue out at him and plated her own giant cupcake. She took it back to the couch and plopped down, almost losing her cupcake in the process.

John chuckled. "Very graceful, that was."

"Shush! Now, eat the deliciousness. You will be amazed, I promise!" Rose took a big bite of hers, smearing frosting over her lips and nose in her enthusiasm then laughed hysterically when John managed to do the same with his.

"You should see your face," John laughed. "Really, go look at yourself."

"Oh you go look at yourself!" She flicked some of her frosting in his direction, laughing as it landed on his jumper.

John's eyebrow quirked. "So that's the way it's to be, hmm?" Before she could say a word, he reached across the couch and smashed his cupcake on her forehead.

Naturally, Rose responded in kind.

Sherlock arrived back at 221B feeling exhausted. He was sleeping less and less lately it seemed. Not that he ever slept much in general, but less of a little wasn't great. He finally had a lead on the murders of those young women that he could use. He would have had it sooner had Anderson not hoarded the evidence like an idiot, believing _he _could find something and get a one up on the world's only consulting detective! Anderson's stupidity truly knew no bounds.

He entered his flat having two things in mind: a shower and his bed. What he found, however, left him momentarily speechless. There were John and Rose, wearing a copious amount of assorted frostings, with cake bits strewn liberally around them, throwing perfectly good cupcakes at one another. In fact, while he stood there, Rose grabbed another one and tossed it at John, trying to catch him in the face, but he managed to dodge it. The cupcake hit a book on the shelf, leaving behind chocolate frosting in its wake as it fell to the floor.

"Those are _my _books you just hit with that cupcake Rosenwyn!" Sherlock thundered.

His sister spun around to look at him with wide eyes. She opened her mouth once, then closed it and shook her head. Nope, there really was nothing at all to say when you were standing in a sitting room, covered in frosting and cake. Not a thing at all.

"Hello Sherlock. We bought cupcakes," John said pleasantly, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on.

"Hmm. I'd managed to deduce _that _much John. Thank you for stating the oh-so-very obvious as always," the other man grumbled. "That does not explain why… why…" He raised his hand in a sweeping motion. "Why _this _is happening, whatever it is!"

"Well…" Rose began, trying to think quickly on her feet. "We bought you cupcakes! Two of them, your favorites! Raspberry Bubbly and Turtle!"

"And did you manage not to horribly mangle them? Or is that too much to ask?"

"No, we saved those out," John promised. "We just mangled the rest of them."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "How many of them?"

"I can't decide if you're pleased or displeased or merely confused," Rose murmured.

John looked in the box of cupcakes. "Well, ten of them, apparently."

"Oh my, no!" Rose squealed before dissolving into laughter. "We never really got to eat hardly any of them!"

John shrugged. "We'll go back and get some another day." His nonchalant air only made Rose laugh harder. "Don't look at me, she started it."

"Did not!"

"You flicked frosting at me!"

"And you smashed your cupcake in my face!"

"ENOUGH!" Sherlock bellowed. "Get cleaned up and restore our sitting room to its previously cupcake free status before Mrs. Hudson comes up here and sees this mess! I don't see her being pleased at the idea of having frosting all over her wallpaper or the baseboard."

That thought sobered John and Rose momentarily.

"At least we didn't shoot the wall," Rose pointed out.

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed dramatically. "Don't you have a home you can go to?"

Rose nodded her agreement. "Yes, but I can't very well clean your flat from_ my_ flat."

"Fine. I'm showering in your flat then while you two sort this mess out. It had better look somewhat improved by the time I come back in here," he stated firmly.

"Yes, Daddy," Rose snickered.

"Rosenwyn Holmes, you are a plague upon this earth," her brother responded with a groan.

At 930am the following morning, Rose stumbled into 221B, eyes half open, curls wild, feet bare.

Sherlock looked up from his tea as she entered, unable to keep a smirk from his face. "You look quite awful, do you realize that?"

"Hate you," she muttered, not meaning it at all. Rose fumbled for a few moments with the coffee maker before Sherlock got up to assist her.

"Are you certain you want to be awake right now?" he questioned, pushing her gently into a chair.

"Still hate you."

John entered the kitchen, the consummate morning person: dressed for the day, hair sorted out, and a smile on his face.

"Rose is quite grumpy this morning," Sherlock warned.

"Hungry, love?" John asked, leaning over to kiss the top of her head. "You've got that look on your face again. That sleep deprived look. I'm becoming less and less convinced you're sleeping properly."

"This is the part where she says she hates you," Sherlock mock-whispered.

"No, I just hate you more Sherlock, and possibly for real. If that's the last of my cereal, I'm going to smack you," Rose decided.

He rolled his eyes. "If you like it so much that you cannot share, why is it in our flat?"

She groaned. "Because I eat breakfast here _every _day. Routines, Sherlock Holmes, are the key to our existence."

"Never mind the cereal," John interrupted before the playful banter between siblings turned into hurling actual insults at one another. "I'm going to make you a proper breakfast. That'll be just the thing to wake you up, love. Now come get your coffee before I drink it first."

"Why is it John calls me such nice names, and you never do?" Rose inquired of her brother as she poured her coffee.

"I do call you nice names. I call you an insufferable brat on a regular basis and mean it with the greatest of affection… most of the time," Sherlock countered. "On occasion I call you Rosie but I tend to reserve that for when you're..." He paused trying to come up with the appropriate word.

"Adorable?"

"Hardly! You stopped being adorable the moment you could _talk_."

"The word you're looking for, Sherlock is 'cuddling'. You call her that when you give her a cuddle. You're not the only one that observes around here," John commented.

The detective scowled darkly.

The sound of a mobile ringing interrupted their conversation. John answered it and gestured for Sherlock to take over the scrambled eggs as he stepped out of the kitchen.

"Don't burn them," Rose warned Sherlock.

He ignored her completely and finished the eggs. "Do you want a plate?"

Rose frowned. "What sort of question is that? My god, do you eat out of a pan when I'm not around? I worry about you, young man, I truly do." She shook her head, attempting to look oh-so-concerned.

"They'll go on your head instead of a plate in a second."

"And then Captain Watson will get you after he treats my burns."

"What am I doing?" John asked, coming back into the kitchen. He nodded when Sherlock offered him some eggs and sat down at the table and sighed.

"Uhoh. My favorite morning person is no longer his sunshiny self," Rose commented. "Explain."

"That was Sarah. Her mum's taken ill and she's off to see her," John said.

Rose sighed sadly. "That's rotten luck, the day of your charity ball. Are you still going?"

John shrugged. "I'm not sure. It would be nice to see everyone again, but I don't want to show up without a date."

"You could ask Molly," Sherlock suggested. "Granted she would rather go with me than you, but she's biddable enough. She'd go."

"I'm not certain she dances. I'd like to put my lessons to good use."

"Lestrade's wife? He'd be thrilled if you borrowed her for the evening."

"That's unkind, Sherlock," John scolded. "Who else do we know?"

"Mrs. Hudson?"

"Not with that hip, no."

Rose sat back in her chair, watching the exchange. "It's like I'm not even here. I was pretty sure I'm here, since I'm eating eggs right this second, but I could be mistaken."

"What are you on about?" Sherlock asked.

"You two are missing the very obvious solution. Which is me, in case you haven't deduced that part yet."

"You?!"

"Thank you, Sherlock. That horrified look on your face right now was fantastic." Rose rolled her eyes. "If not somewhat insulting. Brothers!"

John leaned forward in his chair. "You're serious, aren't you?"

"Of course I am. You want to go, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do. Quite a bit actually."

"But not without a girl right?"

He nodded. "Preferably."

"Last time I checked, I was still a girl," she told him.

"What does that mean?" Sherlock asked, frowning at her. "Last time you checked."

"I was being facetious, you idiot. And pointing out the obvious, that I'm a girl, and I'm a girl with no plans tonight, with the added bonus of being a dancer," Rose responded with a put-upon sigh.

"You wouldn't mind? Really? Don't feel obligated love. You might not even enjoy yourself," John pointed out. It was sweet of her to offer, but he wouldn't hold her to it if she was just offering to be kind.

"It's a military dance, yeah?"

"It is," John confirmed.

"Uh, men in uniform? I'm pretty sure I'll enjoy myself plenty, thanks," Rose decided, giving him a cheeky grin.

Sherlock promptly choked on his cereal.

John took a good look at himself in the mirror; a really good look. It had been a while since he'd worn his dress uniform and luckily for him, it still fit just as it should. He let out a breath and nodded at his reflection. To say he'd been surprised at Rose's offer to accompany him was an understatement. Aside from the obvious reason she'd pointed out, he couldn't imagine why she'd want to go with him and be around all sorts of people she didn't know. He was determined to make sure she enjoyed the evening.

Downstairs, Rose checked her hair and make-up one last time before putting on her very favorite shoes- her Speakeasy Does It heels. "I feel tall now," she told Sherlock with a laugh. "What do you think? Will I pass muster?"

She stood and spun around slowly for him, waiting anxiously for his approval.

"You look far too grown up," Sherlock decided. "Ah, here's the Captain now." He indicated John, who was descending the stairs.

"I… oh… You look…" John struggled to find the right word as he caught sight of Rose. "You look lovely," he finally decided.

"Think so?" Rose asked, blushing.

John nodded. "Give us a twirl, love," he instructed. He smiled as she complied. "I can't believe you found something that fit you so well so quickly. I wasn't sure you'd manage it."

Rose flushed a bit. "Well, it isn't new; it's a couple years old. I always have to have formal things tailored and I doubted I'd find anyone willing to do that today for an event tonight!" Her dress was in a light shade of purple, almost lavender. It had an empire waist, delicate lace sleeves just across the top of her shoulders, and a neckline that was low, but not _too _low. She'd gone to a hairdresser and had her long dark curls fashioned into a pretty chignon, with just a few stray curls left out.

"Well, we should get going. Put your coat on and we'll find a cab."

She carefully put on her coat, not wanting to brush against her hair, and followed John out of the flat after giving Sherlock a wave.

"Take good care of her, young man, and bring her home by curfew!" Sherlock teased John.

"Are you ready?" Rose asked John when they arrived at the venue. "Nervous?"

He nodded. "A bit. Been a while since I've seen a lot of these chaps." In fact, the last time he'd seen some of them was just after he'd been shot in Afghanistan.

"I bet they'll be quite glad to see you," she commented thoughtfully. "And I know I'm excited to see how you do dancing tonight! That's the real test of any teacher: how does her student do when released in the wild?"

John laughed. "The wild?"

She just grinned. "Come on, let's get out of this cab and get our dancing shoes on."

Hopping out of his side of the cab, John hurried around and opened her door, offering his arm to Rose when she emerged. Sharing a smile, they headed inside.

Rose was an unmitigated success at the charity ball. She danced nearly every dance, had every young man in the place asking if they could bring her a drink or something to eat while openly vying for her attention. She didn't say yes to just anyone though and made a concerted effort to draw out the soldiers less likely to dance: those that were awkward and shy, or those that were injured. Within a few hours she had won many hearts and given out her number to a few of her conquests.

"You're a popular young lady," John chuckled as he caught up with her. She hadn't missed a single dance that night and he was amazed at her seemingly endless energy.

"I am! I'm a terrible date, I've been dancing with too many other people," Rose said, her cheeks turning pink.

"Well I've hardly been sitting off to the side myself," he pointed out. "We've both been rather popular. I'm claiming this one though." He took her hand and pulled her out to the dance floor.

"This is our fifth dance together, did you know that?" Rose asked casually as they began waltzing.

"Yeah?"

She nodded. "About two hundred years ago, you'd have been expected to show up at Mycroft's tomorrow and ask for my hand in marriage. Gentleman weren't supposed to show such partiality for a lady unless their intentions were completely honorable."

John chuckled. "And if their intentions were not honorable?"

"Pistols at dawn."

"That's a bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Rose giggled. "Yes very! And highly illegal actually."

Just then someone attempted to cut in and John graciously surrendered her to a handsome young soldier who was missing one arm. He smiled proudly as he watched her chat pleasantly with the young man, putting him completely at ease. Not even for a moment was she awkward with him and John admired her for it. He knew that not everyone was able to act normal around those who were permanently injured.

"So, how many boys did you give your number to? Should Sherlock and I start guarding your door?" John teased as they left to catch a cab.

"You cannot tell Sherlock that I gave out my mobile number out," Rose said firmly. "But, between you and me… five. What can I say; I like a man in uniform."

John laughed. "Our secret then. Thank you for coming with me tonight. I really meant a lot to me," he admitted a bit more solemnly.

"Anytime, for anything. Truly," she said softly.

John wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her close, dropping a kiss on top of her head. "You really are a sweetheart, you know that? I was so proud of you tonight."

Rose looked up at him and smiled. "What for?"

"You really gave those men a boost. The ones you were dancing and chatting with, who'd been injured. Acclimating back into civilian life was tough for me, but I didn't have a permanent injury. I was still whole, more or less. I can only imagine how tough it has been for those that aren't quite whole anymore," John admitted. "I just bet it made their night to have such a pretty thing as you paying attention to them."

Blushing at his praise, Rose waved for a cab.

Before long, they were back at Baker Street. "I'm going to get my mail and change," Rose told John. "I'll be over in a few minutes. I'm sure Sherlock will want to hear all about it. And if he doesn't, that's too bad."

"Alright," John agreed. He headed upstairs, leaving Rose to get her mail.

There was another pale blue envelope. Rose hurried up to her flat and let herself in before ripping it open. There was only one word.

'Tonight.'

She shuddered; her breath quickened. This couldn't go on any longer. Not even a minute longer.

Retrieving the other letters from her desk drawer, Rose shoved them into a larger purse and hurriedly added the items from her little clutch into the purse. Then she picked up her mobile and made a call.

Mycroft Holmes was enjoying a very late, but delicious, supper when his mobile rang. Frowning, he glanced at it. That frown deepened when he saw it was Rose. She _never _called.

"Rose? Is everything alright?"

"No, no it's not," Rose blurted out.

Mycroft could hear the panic in her voice. "Tell me where you are," he said firmly.

Rose started to cry. "Mycroft, I'm in so much trouble and I'm so scared. I need you."

Ice cold fear spread through his chest. "Rosenwyn, tell me where you are and I will come get you."

"Baker Street."

"Go wait for me in the entry; I'll be there in a few minutes." Mycroft hung up the mobile and practically ran out of the house.

Picking up her purse, Rose left her apartment and went back downstairs to wait for Mycroft. Tears were streaming down her cheeks and she was trembling. How could she have been so stupid? As she stood there berating herself someone walked up behind her and wrapped one arm around her torso while the other hand held a knife to her neck.


	15. On a Darkened Street

NOTE: Have updated the previous chapters with their titles!

_Five Minutes Prior_

Lestrade walked into the murder suspect's bedroom, the evidence team right behind him. "My god," he whispered. The wall was littered with a hundred or so photographs of none other than Rose Holmes. "Sherlock! Get in here!" he shouted.

Sighing, and with a sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue, Sherlock left the living room and followed the sound of Lestrade's voice. The comment died on his lips as he walked into the room and caught sight of the wall.

John wished he could have been surprised that Sherlock wasn't home when he and Rose got back to Baker Street; sadly, it was likely there had been yet another murder. Heading up to his room, he began to change out of his dress uniform when his mobile rang.

"JOHN! Is Rose with you?" Sherlock shouted.

"No, she's in her flat. What's going on?"

"Do NOT let her leave! Lestrade and I are coming to Baker Street."

"Wh-" There was no point in finishing his question as Sherlock promptly hung up. John retrieved his gun and was heading back to the sitting room when he heard a scream. "More spiders," he grumbled, picking up his pace.

Then he heard another scream, one he was certain didn't belong to Rose.

"SHERLOCK! JOHN!" Mrs. Hudson screamed. "There's a man with a knife!"

Rose let out a scream and managed to kick Mrs. Hudson's door twice before the man took her outside. The second they were clear of the door, she completely let her body go slack and fell right at his feet. The man was caught off guard, not expecting her to crumple, and took a moment to process and respond. That moment was just what she needed and Rose tried to get back into the building.

The man grabbed her coat, yanking her backwards. Rose immediately tried to slip her arms out of it and nearly succeeded, but the man was faster at anticipating what she'd do this time. The door slammed shut behind him as Mrs. Hudson screamed.

Struggling for all she was worth, Rose fought to get away. The man's grip was like a vice and he had the knife to her throat. She could feel it pressing into her neck and a sudden burst of warmth. Reaching back with both hands, she grabbed onto his head, pulling the mask off the man before hitting him with her head as hard as she could.

The man let go for a moment and she tried to run. In her panic, she ran away from 221B rather than towards it, but she didn't get very far. The man tackled her to the ground and rolled her onto her back. That was when she saw his face. It was Mark, from the coffee shop. "Mark! What are you doing?!" Rose screamed as he sat on her legs and raised the knife.

Instinctively Rose's hands went up to shield herself from the blade. It sliced at her skin as he swung it at a furious pace while she screamed and fought, alternately blocking the knife and hitting at him with her fists.

John rushed out of the building and onto the street, just in time to see Rose tackled a block away and the moonlight shine on a blade. He pulled his gun and ran towards them. "STOP! STOP OR I WILL KILL YOU!" John warned, hurrying towards them. A scream pierced the air and the knife plunged into Rose's chest.

A shot was fired and Mark fell over on top of her, the knife clattering onto the sidewalk beside him. John hauled the man off Rose and made certain the man was dead before turning his attention back to Rose.

"John, John, John," she repeated his name, screaming in terror, while reaching for his hand.

"No, no, lie still," John told her sternly. "Lie still, don't try to talk. I'm going to help you." His eyes quickly assessed her wounds as best he could while blood was seeping out of several of them. It was the one directly to her chest that worried him most. He began putting pressure on her wounds, the ones that appeared to be the most severe, taking off his own jumper to press to her neck and chest.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die," Rose sobbed, struggling to breathe.

"You're not going to die. Stay with me, keep looking at me. I'm a doctor, remember? I'll make sure you're alright," John told her. He could hear the sound of feet running and hoped to God it was the police responding to Mrs. Hudson's call.

Instead, it was Mycroft, who dropped to his knees beside his little sister. "Get an ambulance Mycroft!" John growled. His growling made Rose cry even harder, making her breathing more labored.

"Love, I mean it, you'll be alright," John promised. "Eyes open, look at me. I promise, I'll make sure you're alright. You're such a good girl, that's it, keep looking at me. It's all over, that man won't touch you ever again. Come on my love, try to calm down. You can do it; that's my good girl. The ambulance is on its way and I'll get you all patched up. Promise love, I promise."

As if his very words had summoned the help she so desperately needed, Lestrade's car squealed to a halt beside an ambulance. The paramedics tried to move John, who refused to be parted from her as he imparted medical information, while Mycroft and Sherlock hovered at Rose's sides.

"Sir, let us take over, step away. Detective Inspector, he needs to step away! They all do!" The paramedic shouted.

His doctoring instinct taking over, John moved away and encouraged the Holmes brothers to do the same. They watched in horror as Rose was put on a stretcher and taken into the ambulance to be whisked away.

For a long moment, everyone, including Lestrade, just stood there, watching the ambulance drive away. Finally, Mycroft ushered his brother and John into his car to follow Rose to the hospital. Just before he slid into the driver's seat Mycroft turned to Lestrade and said, "I killed him. That's my gun. Deal with it." The two men shared a look and then Mycroft got into his car.

Mrs. Hudson arrived at hospital a half hour later and joined John, Sherlock and Mycroft in the waiting room. "Anything?" she asked. "I brought some sandwiches, in case we're here a while. And Rose's purse, she might need it."

Sherlock took the purse from her and held it in his hands, staring at it. He couldn't get the image of Rose, covered in blood, lifted away on that stretcher. Someone had hurt her and he hadn't been there. _He hadn't been there._

"There was a bunch of letters in it that fell out in the entry," Mrs. Hudson went on. "I tucked them back up in there. That nice inspector said he'll be in when he can."

"How were you there?" Sherlock asked. It had been the first time he'd spoken since they'd arrived. "Why were you there Mycroft?"

His elder brother looked lost in his thoughts and didn't register the question until Sherlock took hold of his shirt and pulled, putting his face right in front of Mycroft's. "Why were you there?" he growled.

"She called me. Said she was in trouble. My god Sherlock, she sounded terrified," Mycroft said quietly. "I came as quickly as I could."

"Did she say what was wrong?" Sherlock questioned. His mind was racing a thousand miles a minute as he tried to put the pieces together of why the murder suspect he and Lestrade had been after tried to kill his baby sister.

"No, just that she was in trouble and she needed me."

Sherlock finally let go of Mycroft and leaned back in his own chair, trying to detach himself emotionally from the events. Still holding her purse, he steepled his hands to think.

"John, I brought you something to wear," Mrs. Hudson whispered, trying not to disturb Sherlock's process. "Didn't think you'd be wanting to wear what you've got on."

He managed a weak smile for her, before looking once more at his clothing. He had no idea where his jumper had gone, but the legs of his pants were soaked in blood and it was spattered on his shirt; even his hands were stained with it.

"Letters. Did you say letters?" Sherlock suddenly spoke up. He practically pulled the zipper off Rose's large purse and proceeded to dump its contents on the floor. Getting up suddenly, Sherlock procured gloves from a nurse and began examining each item. The unimportant ones were tossed aside.

"Pepper spray, unused, recently purchased," he murmured, putting that on the chair across from him. "Flashlight, also new." He shook it. "Heavy; could crack a skull, heavy." That joined the pepper spray. "She purchased these within the last week. She was scared, why didn't she say anything?" Sherlock went through the rest of the items, leaving the letters for last.

There were sixteen in total and Sherlock opened each one, reading it aloud to the others.

"She's been so jumpy lately," John pointed out. "No wonder."

"No wonder indeed. The question is why she didn't come to me. Clearly, she knew she was being stalked. Rose is smart, there's no other conclusion that she could have assumed," Sherlock said firmly.

"I cannot believe she'd be so stupid," Mycroft sputtered. It was completely inconceivable that Rose wouldn't have come to one of them, any of them, with these letters.

"This is why she called," Sherlock told him, holding up the one-word letter. 'Tonight.'

Mycroft's face turned dark. "When she's better, I'm going to lock her up somewhere."

John frowned. "Where?"

"An ivory tower, a jail cell, an underground bunker, _somewhere_. After I spank the living daylights out of her!" Mycroft decided. "Of all the stupid things for her to do!"

"Well, we all go through that stage. Think we know it all and those who raised us are the least intelligent people in Britain," Mrs. Hudson commented thoughtfully.

"That stage, done. She will have _no more _stages. Ever," Mycroft decided.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "She won't get away with this, I agree. She lied to all of us and not just in keeping this from us. She lied to our faces, assuring us everything was alright. Very clearly, it was not."

John nodded. "I completely agree. Let's just keep concentrating on the fact that she'll be alright for us to all have a go smacking that behind of hers. After an appropriate period of rest! Nobody is smacking anybody until she's well. Not until I clear it."

Mrs. Hudson chuckled. "Poor dear, she has no idea what she's in for."

"She is grounded for… the rest of her life," Sherlock decided. Discussing what they would do with her made him feel better; some sort of strange sense of assurance that she'd be alright. "And I'm going to do something _very _drastic, though I'm not entirely certain what that will be. Seriously drastic, something I've never done before and she will not like it."

"Who said you get to do anything?" Mycroft demanded. "I raised her!"

"And we agreed I was taking over on that score Mycroft!"

"Boys," Mrs. Hudson said sternly. "This is a hospital, keep your voices down. You can sort out who is doing what and when later. Now is not the time."

The Holmes brothers nodded, though they looked less than pleased about the fact that she had a point.

"She will be well, won't she?" Mrs. Hudson whispered to John.

"God I hope so. I've never been so scared in my entire life and I've been bloody shot in combat," John whispered back.

"It's always that way with our loved ones," she said knowingly.

A while later, Lestrade wandered into the waiting room with a tray of coffee. "How is she? Have you heard anything?"

"She's in surgery, that's all we know," John told him.

"He'd been stalking her for weeks Lestrade. _Weeks_. And she never told anyone," Sherlock explained. "Not a single one of us."

Lestrade let out a sigh and sat down in one of the chairs. "Kids today. Think themselves invincible. It's bloody annoying," he commented before taking a drink of his coffee. "She'll be alright though, yeah?"

All eyes turned to John once more for his opinion as a doctor. "She lost a lot of blood," John admitted. "And got stabbed in the chest; it went into her lung. That's about all I can tell you. I was just trying to stop the bleeding from her neck and chest and keep her calm." The terror in her eyes, the sounds of her struggling to get in enough oxygen, he'd never forget it.

"Things are uh… sorted out," Lestrade told Mycroft quietly. "You can pick up your gun in a few days." Lestrade knew damn well that the gun did not belong to Mycroft at all. He didn't even know if Mycroft knew how to shoot! He had his suspicions, but Mycroft at least had the government clearance to avoid problems over the incident, particularly in consideration of the circumstances. He was certain the gun belonged to either John or Sherlock, but wasn't going to ask either of them about it.

A set of doors opened and a doctor emerged, looked around, and came towards them. "Are you here for the stabbing victim?"

Sherlock nodded. "Our sister."

"How is she?" Mycroft asked.

"First, let me say that she'll be alright," the doctor said.

There was a huge sigh of relief the group let out, almost in tandem with one another.

"But she did have quite a bit of blood loss," the doctor continued. "An artery in her neck was nicked and the chest injury collapsed her lung. We went in and repaired the hole, and suctioned the air and fluid out to re-inflate the lung. She also required blood transfusions. There were also injuries to her arms and hands but are minor injuries, which have been sutured as needed. Everything else looks normal, her heart never stopped beating, she's stable, and will recover quite well, with minimal scaring."

"Can we see her?" Mycroft asked.

The doctor nodded. "She's out of recovery and we're moving her to a room. She isn't awake just yet and depending on how well she tolerates pain medication, she might sleep for a good while."

Sherlock nodded. "But she'll wake up?"

"Yes, she'll wake up. I have no doubt of that," the doctor assured him. "If you'll wait here just a few more minutes, I'll have a nurse bring you to her room. Family members only please. How many of you are family members?"

"Three, there's three of us," Sherlock stated firmly, indicating himself, Mycroft and John.

For a moment, the doctor looked a little doubtful; after all John looked nothing like them. Then he nodded. "Alright. Someone will be back out to get you in a few minutes."

The three men stayed huddled around Rose's bed inside her hospital room for hours, fighting the urge to sleep. Their bodies were tired, especially Sherlock's since it had been two days since he'd last slept. They couldn't rest, wouldn't rest, until Rose woke up. She'd woken up in the recovery room, the nurses had told them, but the medication they'd given her had put her right back out again, and so they waited.

Just before dawn Rose began to stir, her eyes fluttering open and closed a few times before the room came into focus. Her whole body tensed as she recalled the attack, trying to reconcile how she had gotten from that to this room, clearly in hospital. She tried to sit up and get her bearings about her, but a hand gently pushed her back down. She turned her head in the direction the hand had come from.

"Shhh," Mycroft soothed. "It's alright now, Rose. You're in hospital and we're all here with you. Lie down like a good girl. You've been hurt, but you're going to be just fine." He took her hand and squeezed it gently.

"I'm not dead?" Rose asked.

"No, you're not," Sherlock added, moving his chair closer to the bed.

John followed suit. "How are you, love? In any pain? You look so much better." When they'd first been taken to her room, Rose had been so pale it was alarming. Now she had some color in her cheeks again.

"You're ok!" Rose exclaimed upon seeing John. "You didn't get hurt? You're really alright?"

"Lie back down," Mycroft said firmly, pressing on her shoulder once more.

"Course I am," John replied. He reached out to gently rub Rose's cheek with his hand, smiling adoringly at her. He could hardly believe that she was here and alive and would be just fine. "You have no idea how glad we are that you're alright. You silly girl," he murmured, leaning down to kiss her forehead.

"Do you not see that I'm here John?" Sherlock asked impatiently as his friend leaned across him.

"Sorry," John responded, sitting back down.

Rose smiled softly in Sherlock's direction.

Sherlock scooted his chair over a bit to make it easier for John to sit by the bed, rather than lean over him in that obnoxious manner. Once that was completed he turned his full attention to Rose, looking her up and down, as if unable to be sure that she was okay. "Are you hurting? Feel any pain?"

"My head," she admitted, reaching up with her free hand to rub her forehead. That was when she caught sight of stitches and sutures on her arms and could feel something stitched on her forehead as well. "Oh my god," Rose whispered, looking absolutely horrified. "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god," she kept repeating.

Sherlock's heart broke for her as he watched her eyes widen and fill with terror as she saw some of her injuries for the first time. He reached out and began to stroke her hair. "Rose, you're alright. All that will heal. You're alright. No one is going to hurt you ever again," he said quietly.

"But he's out there! It's Mark, Sherlock, its Mark from the coffee shop by Scotland Yard! Don't let him come get me!" Rose pleaded, working herself into a panic.

"He's dead Rose. Mark is dead and won't hurt you or anyone else ever again," Sherlock said. His tone was sharp, trying to get her attention through her rising panic. He saw John get up and leave the room, but kept his focus on his sister. "Rose. _Rosenwyn_. You have to stop. You're alright, I promise you, you're alright."

As Rose started to cry, a nurse bustled in and put a sedative in her IV.

A few hours later, Rose woke up once again. She didn't feel disoriented or frightened this time. In fact, she felt warm and safe, almost as if she were being cuddled.

"Awake again?" John asked softly. "Your brothers fell asleep."

Rose looked up at him and discovered that she was in fact being cuddled. The empty bed in the room had been pushed up next to hers and John was sitting on it, leaning over slightly onto her bed and had an arm around her, cuddling her to his side.

"This is a nice way to wake up," she decided.

John smiled. "Good, that's what I was hoping for. I didn't want you waking up frightened again. Came up with the idea after your brothers left me to my thoughts."

"Will the nurses get on you about it?"

"Doubt it, so long as I move away when they need me to. Do you want me to wake Sherlock?" John asked. "I know he'd happily take my spot."

Rose looked over at both Sherlock and Mycroft. They were exhausted, and when Sherlock actually _looked _exhausted, that was saying something. "No, they should sleep. You're sure you're alright John? You didn't get hurt?"

"No, love, I didn't get hurt. Not even a scratch," he assured her.

She rested her head against his chest and fell silent for a moment. "Am I going to be okay? Truly ok? Am I going to be all scarred? Can I dance again?"

"Shh," John said firmly. "Slow down love, don't get upset. Yes, you will be fine and yes, you can dance again. You'll need to rest up a bit first so your body can recover, but you'll be alright. I don't think you'll end up with that many scars either. Nearly everything should heal nicely."

"Is he really dead?"

"He is, thank god," he told her emphatically before kissing the top of her head. "Try not to think about him, if you can. Don't force yourself to think about any of it. It'll all come back to you when it's ready and don't be frightened when it does. Sherlock, Mycroft and I are all here for you. We always are love, and it's easier for us to help you when you tell us there's a problem, yeah?" John kept his tone gentle and quiet, knowing there would be ample opportunity for scolding at a more appropriate time.

"So you found out," she murmured.

"We did, yeah," John confirmed. There was little sense in hiding it from her and if she needed to talk just then, it was better that she feel free to say whatever she wished, rather than worry about giving something away.

"I didn't know who it was," Rose admitted. "And I never would have thought it was Mark. He seemed so nice and I really thought he might be interested in me, you know? Louise did too. It never crossed my mind that he was the one texting me and writing me letters."

John's eyebrows went up. Determined to not upset Rose, he took a minute to calm himself before responding. "Someone was texting you as well?"

She nodded. "I blocked the number, and then the letters came."

He closed his eyes and felt a tremor of fear wash over him. She _knew _she'd been followed, she received texts in addition to letters, and she'd never told a soul. At any time, that lunatic could have taken her and done God knew what with her, and she would have been completely alone. John thanked his lucky stars that hadn't happened and he'd been there last night, when she'd needed someone the very most.

Rose looked up at him, watching with anxious eyes as a wealth of emotions played across his face. "John? Are you alright?"

"I'm realizing how lucky we are to still have you here with us," John responded truthfully. "So very, very lucky." He wanted to wrap both arms around her, hold her as tight as he could, and never let go.


	16. The Long Road to Recovery, Part I

It was decided, without consulting Rose, that the three men in her life would take shifts staying with her at the hospital. None of them was eager to let her be alone and Rose had to admit, upon hearing their plan, that she had no objections. Just then she'd rather not be so independent. Thus it was with great surprise that her doctor found Rose alone in her room, reading a magazine.

"Good afternoon," he greeted her. "Are you on your own today?"

Rose shook her head. "No, Mycroft's arguing with someone on his mobile. I'm presuming someone important since he helped himself to the room next door."

"Should we wait, or can I get on with my check-up?"

"We're safe to go ahead. He'll be back soon and I can fill him in," Rose assured the physician.

_In the Room Next Door_

"I said no, and I meant no," Mycroft hissed into his phone. "My sister was nearly murdered; I am staying with her as much as she needs me too. When was the last time I ever took a personal day? The answer is never! Unless the nation is absolutely at risk and there is no alternative the answer is still no." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Let's play pretend, shall we? Pretend that you're the prime minister and can actually do your job all by yourself for a few days!"

_Back in Rose's Room_

"Things are progressing nicely. I'm quite pleased," the physician admitted. "Provided everything continues to go as well, I don't see why we cannot release you tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, I'd like you to start doing some walking around here. Walk as much as you like today. Be sure to rest if you get winded or feel in any pain, but I'm not limiting your distance or number of walks."

Rose rewarded the man with a big smile. "That's really good news. I feel better than yesterday. Not as tired and no more panic about the injuries."

"The vast majority of them will heal with minimal to no scarring," the doctor assured her. "And those that do scar won't be easily seen or particularly distressing. Now, up you get, do some walking. I'll check back before the end of my shift."

As soon as the physician left, Rose decided to do precisely as she'd been told and take a walk. She eased herself off the bed and put on the silly socks with the grip on the bottom of them and exited her room. She could hear Mycroft shouting with someone on the phone still and wondered if it was still the Prime Minister or not. Shaking her head, she started off down the hallway.

"Here now! Where are you going?" A familiar voice called out to her. Rose stopped and turned, giving John a little smile. "The doctor said I should be up and walking as much as I'd like, so long as I take breaks if I get winded or start hurting."

He nodded, returning her smile. "Mind if I walk with you?" It wasn't that he doubted the doctor's recommendation; John would have made the same one himself. Rather, it was the fact that John wasn't ready to let her out of his, or someone's, sight just yet.

"Sure," Rose agreed. "Want to hold my hand too?" Her tone was light, almost nervous as she held out her hand.

"I'd love too." Smiling, John reached for her hand and interlaced their fingers, holding it gently.

The two walked in companionable silence for several minutes until finally John spoke. "Are you alright, love? You're awfully quiet. Making me worried," he admitted.

"I suppose I'm alright," Rose answered with a sigh.

John was instantly alarmed. "Are you having trouble breathing? Is your chest hurting?" Her breathing sounded fine, but he couldn't be one hundred percent sure.

"No, no, nothing like that," she hurried to assure him. "Let's keep walking." Rose nudged his arm gently. "I can't find the words to say what I want to say and it's going to be awkward for me until I say them."

He squeezed her hand gently. "Try anyway. I may not have the sort of mind that Sherlock does, but I've been told by reliable sources that I'm at least reasonably intelligent." John gave her a wink, trying to set her at ease with a bit of teasing.

"I don't know how to say thank you for saving my life. Or how to apologize for lying to you for weeks, promising I was alright, even when I wasn't," she said quietly.

"Oh love," John sighed. "You really want to talk about this now? Here?" He could practically feel the anxiety coming off her in waves. "There's a lounge up ahead. Let's go there and get a cuppa, then talk a bit, yeah?"

Rose nodded and allowed him to lead the way to the lounge. When they arrived, she helped herself to a cup of coffee while John chose tea. They selected a couple of chairs by a window and settled in.

"Let me start by saying you don't need to thank me, or feel indebted to me in any way for saving your life," John said sincerely. "I'm just glad I was there when you needed me and knew how to help."

"John, you killed a man for me," she whispered.

"Sherlock told you, didn't he?"

She nodded.

"I told him not to; git," John grumbled. "Yes, I did kill him. It was him or you and there was no way in hell I was letting him kill you. I'd never let anyone hurt you, _ever. _And he wasn't my first, not by a long shot."

"Afghanistan," she said quietly.

"Right. There's been more than I'd like there to have been, but there you are. I don't regret what I did and I'd do it again. I'd really prefer it not come to that though," John admitted. "I'd like you to take better care of yourself and keep us apprised of what's going on with you. I'd also like to think you'll be honest with me from now on. I don't like being lied to, especially by people I care about and that very much includes you."

"I know," Rose replied, her face reddening. "I'm so sorry I lied to you. It was incredibly stupid, and my reasons for it were stupid as well. I won't make that mistake again."

"Now that you're back, you're not alone in the world anymore. Remember that, yeah?" John reminded her. "Let us help you if you're in trouble."

"No more lies, I promise. Can you ever forgive me?" Rose's question was posed in earnest and her anxiety of what his response might be reflected in her eyes.

Overcome by the urge to hug her close, John took her hands and gently pulled her out of her chair and onto his lap. "Do you really even need to ask that, love? Of course I forgive you." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "But it best not happen again, yeah? I can't promise I won't give you a good spanking if you lie to me again about something so important."

Blushing once more, Rose nodded, taking his words for what they were: a warning. "I understand," she assured him. "And it won't come to that; promise."

"That's my good girl."

"Hmph. Your good girl wants her coffee back. Reach it over or let me up," Rose laughed. "I haven't had any since breakfast and it's high time I enjoy it. And you won't get me back to that bed until I have a second cup, though I am willing to make it a takeaway cup."

Laughing, John leaned across the table to retrieve her cup. "I'd say you're well on your way back to health if you're already issuing demands in that cheeky tone of yours."

Rose took a long, fortifying drink of her coffee. "Mycroft and Sherlock have been very tight lipped about what they're going to do with me and I'm not stupid enough to think that means they have no intentions of having at me for the all the secrecy."

"You're quite right on that, but I can't tell you what their plans are. They've done a lot of whispering with their heads together. Though I think it's safe to say that Sherlock has talked Mycroft out of procuring an underground bunker to put you in for safe keeping," John admitted.

"Mycroft is always saying ridiculous things like that," Rose groaned. "He gets all dramatic and blustery. Always been that way."

"They were so scared for you Rose. We all were," he reminded her gently.

"I was scared for me too," she admitted. "But not until that last letter. I really thought if I just ignored it, it would go away and if I took rides places I'd be fine. Lord, my brothers are going to kill me."

"They'll have to wait a bit. You need your rest, no strenuous activity," John pointed out. "So they'll wait until I say differently. Health comes first, no matter how much you deserve a smacked bottom."

Rose blushed and looked around, discovering that, thankfully, they were alone. "We should probably head back. Mycroft has to be done scolding the Prime Minister by now and wondering where I am."

"Mycroft was scolding the _Prime Minister_?" John asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes. Apparently there are several people in our government, the prime minister included, that object to my brother having some personal days to hover over me. They can't seem to manage all by themselves. You'd think Mycroft would be more appreciative of my independence given their tendencies to cling," Rose pointed out.

John shook his head, chuckling. "Get your second cup of coffee and we'll head back to your room."

x

When they arrived back at her hospital room, Mycroft was finally off the phone, looking bored as they entered.

"Look at you, a whole mobile garden all your own," John said with a laugh. "I'm gone eight hours and suddenly room is bursting at the seams with flowers."

"I'm quite popular I guess," Rose commented. "Never realized. The dance studio sent me those," she indicated a vase full of carnations. "Louise stopped by with chocolates. She knows me well. Mycroft gave me the yellow roses, which are quite lovely. Lestrade's department sent the tulips; Mrs. Hudson brought the daisies and chocolate scones."

"Didn't Sherlock get you anything?" John asked, frowning. Sometimes that man was quite thoughtless about appropriate social conventions. Someone you like is in hospital for a stay, you send flowers. Then again, he hadn't known the planets circled the sun, so perhaps this wasn't all that surprising.

"Did _you _bring something, Dr. Watson?" Mycroft asked an eyebrow arching.

"I did, in fact," John responded. "But Rose was out walking, so I hadn't the chance to give it to her yet."

"Sit down Rose, or lie down, please. You've had plenty of exercise for the moment." Though Mycroft's words were a directive, his tone was full of concern and, to his surprise; Rose complied, settling back down on the hospital bed.

John reached for the bag he had placed on the end of the bed and handed it to her. "This is what I brought. Not flowers, obviously, but I hope you'll like it."

"I'm sure I will," Rose murmured. She opened the plain brown bag and spotted a pair of fuzzy feet. Frowning, she took hold of one of them and pulled the item out of the bag, to find a teddy bear. It was dressed in a Red Cross nurse's kit, complete with hat and cape. "Is this is a World War I uniform?" she asked, lightly touching the outfit.

"That I'm not sure," John admitted. "Looks like it but I'm no expert. You don't already have one like this do you? I made Sherlock look before I went round to that specialty shop that does these and he said he didn't see any nurse bears in your collection."

"I don't, no! No nurse bears at all. I almost don't know what to say. She's so sweet and the detail of the uniform is so incredible. Quite accurate, which is hard to find," Rose murmured, inspecting the outfit closely.

"I didn't realize you still collected bears, Rose," Mycroft murmured.

"I've never stopped," she admitted.

"Sherlock said she'd been doing it for years and that's why they're all over her flat," John added. "It seemed fitting, given the circumstances."

"She's lovely; so thoughtful," Rose said. She waved John over and rewarded him with a hug. "Thank you. I'll find a lovely spot for her when I get home." Already she had an inkling of where the new addition could sit, on the nightstand in her bedroom.

"Well, I believe I'll take my leave then since you are here," Mycroft said. "Contact me if you'd like me to come back before it's my turn again Rose. Otherwise, I'm going to have a shower and sleep."

"I will," she promised. As he got up, she reached out and tugged on his arm. "I want a hug first. Just be gentle with my arms."

Mycroft looked at her closely, as if trying to read something in her face or eyes. "You're certain you don't need me to stay?"

"No. Go home and rest, you've earned it. You haven't left my side in well over a day and I'm well out of danger," Rose promised.

Mycroft nodded, knowing she was right, but feeling reluctant to leave all the same.

"Or you could stay, if you'd prefer," she said quietly.

"Clearly he does prefer," Sherlock commented as he entered the room.

"Oh lord Sherlock, you've only been gone three hours. What happened to that nice schedule you three told me about, so you could get some sleep and a shower," Rose pointed out.

Sherlock shrugged his shoulders just a bit. "Sleep is boring. And I'm precisely where I need, and want, to be."

xx

"I said no, I meant no, now sit," Sherlock said sternly. "Sit in the wheelchair Rose, or I'll make them admit you again."

"Sherlock! I can walk, I'm ok to walk. The doctor even said so. Surely I can walk out to Mycroft's car on my own," Rose pointed out.

"I'm not interested. Sit. Down," Sherlock ground out. "So we can take you home."

Rose let out a frustrated sigh.

"John, assistance, if you'd be so kind."

"Seriously? Rose, you can't just do as you're told for once? No, no, that would be too easy, wouldn't it," John commented with a sigh of his own.

"He's going to use that captain tone in a moment," Sherlock told his sister.

"You think so?" Rose looked at John out of the corner of her eye.

"I do."

John gave her a stern look and raised an eyebrow.

Rose sat down.

"This is going to be an excruciatingly long recovery isn't it?" Sherlock asked his friend.

"Unfortunately, given your sister's nature- which is quite like your own- I think that it will be," John admitted.

"And his sister would like you to stop talking about her as if she was not here," Rose commented. "Are we leaving or aren't we?"

The two friends chuckled and Sherlock stepped behind the wheelchair to push it. "We're leaving," he assured her.

x

"Why do I feel like I'm on trial here?" Rose asked quietly. At present she was finding the socks on her feet very interesting.

Upon arriving back at Baker Street, a family meeting of sorts had been called in Sherlock and John's sitting room. They occupied their usual chairs while Mycroft and Rose claimed the couch. All eyes were on her and though she wasn't looking at anyone, she could _feel _them watching her.

"Perhaps, sister dear, because you are?" Mycroft quipped.

"That's unkind, My," she grumbled.

"But also accurate," Sherlock added. "We're all looking for an explanation of your completely idiotic responses, or lack thereof, to being bloody _stalked_. Have you not noticed what I do for living, Rosenwyn? I catch murderers, which should indicate to you that the world is not full of goodness and sunshine and little children frolicking in the park-"

"I know Sher-"

"Be _QUIET_!" He snarled. "I didn't ask you to speak just yet. You will listen!"

She visibly shrank a little in her seat and nodded.

"This is going to go marvelously well, isn't it?" John commented under his breath.

"The world is in fact very much populated with people that kill other people for any number of reasons," Sherlock continued on. "You're an adult now Rosenwyn and should very well know that problems do not just go away on their own, especially not problems that pose a potential threat to your safety."

"I didn't think-" Rose tried to interject.

"That, Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes, is the understatement of the century!" Sherlock practically jumped out of his chair and began pacing around the sitting room. "It is abundantly obvious that you were not thinking about anything at all."

"I WAS!" she shouted, daring to look up at him now.

"Sherlock, go easy," John warned firmly. The last thing he wanted was Rose to start crying and then have trouble breathing.

"I will _not _go easy. You were very nearly killed, Rosenwyn. Taken from us forever!"

"Do you think I don't know that?!" Rose screeched at him. It was high-pitched enough that Sherlock stopped in his tracks and watched her face grow red.

"He put a knife to my throat!" She screamed. "He tackled me and sat on me and STABBED me! I thought I was going to die! If you think I haven't seen the error of my ways, you are very sadly mistaken Sherlock!" Putting a hand to her throat, where she'd been cut, Rose burst into tears.

Stunned by her sudden screaming and tears, Sherlock stood there for a moment in shock.

"Brilliant Sherlock. That's precisely what I wanted to avoid," John grumbled, getting out of his chair.

Before John could cross the room to console her, since Sherlock was making no attempts to do so, Rose closed the distance between herself and Mycroft and helped herself to his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck as she sobbed on his shoulder.

Mycroft froze the moment she sat on his lap, eyes wide, looking completely out of his depth. He looked at Sherlock who rolled his eyes at him.

'Hug her,' he mouthed.

Mycroft continued to stare like a deer caught in headlights, caught completely off guard by this whole scenario.

Rolling his eyes once more, Sherlock moved his arms, gesturing how Mycroft should hold her. 'Hold her. Do it,' he mouthed.

Slowly Mycroft raised his arms and wrapped them around her. Once he did, it was as if he remembered how to cuddle suddenly, after so much time had passed since he'd last cuddled her close.

While Mycroft held her, Sherlock sat down at the other end of the couch. He could feel John scowling at him and he knew he deserved it. It had been too much, too soon, even if every word had been true and something he felt she needed to hear.

'It's not working,' Mycroft mouthed at him over Rose's head.

"Oh you two really are ridiculous, aren't you?" John grumbled, crossing the room. "Give her here, she needs to calm down. She can't do this right now. Or at least turn her around to look at me."

Seeing the concern on John's face, Mycroft nudged Rose and scooted her around a bit so she could look at John.

"Love, you've got to stop. I know you're upset and you've every right to be," John said soothingly. "I don't want you back in hospital, so you need to stop. Please Rose, you've got to stop crying. Take a deep breath. I'll do it with you, yeah? Come on."

Together they took several deep breaths, or at least as deep as Rose could manage with her recovering lung, and she managed to calm down. "Good girl," he praised, kissing her forehead. "I think its nap time for you, love."

Sherlock snorted at the look on Rose's face, which immediately lightened the mood a bit.

"Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I'm not a baby," Rose said softly, drying her face with Mycroft's handkerchief. She was relieved to see Sherlock relax a bit and felt some of the tension drain out of her.

"I'm not saying you are," John soothed. "But you can't do that again. Your lung isn't up to shouting and crying so hard right now and I'm not certain I trust either of your brothers to not upset you again."

"I didn't say a word," Mycroft protested.

John rewarded the man with a hard look. "That is exactly my point." He quickly turned his attention back to Rose. "No arguing, doctor's orders. I'm tucking you into Sherlock's bed."

"She has her own bed," Sherlock commented.

"Your opinion hasn't been asked for Sherlock Holmes. If you don't want her to sleep in your bed, you shouldn't have shouted at her. Now she's staying here, in your bed, until I say different," John stated.

Rose poked her brother and said, "He's going to become Captain Watson on you. Then you'll really be in trouble." She gave him a weak smile, which grew into a full smile when Sherlock chuckled and shook his head before reaching for her hand and squeezing it gently.

"I'm clearly missing something here," Mycroft commented.

"Yes, but we aren't telling you," Rose hurried to answer him. "John I'm not tired and lying in bed is so boring."

"Well that's unfortunate. If you go in nicely and let me fuss over you I'll bring you a book," he offered. "But only if you do as I say."

"Alright," she agreed with a sigh. Now that Rose was calm and the tension had ebbed away from the room, she actually was a bit tired. There was no way she'd admit it though!

John gave her a smile, helped her up, and escorted her into Sherlock's room. He pulled back the bed covers and waited for her to climb in before tucking them in snuggly around her.

"John? Thank you," she said softly.

"For what love?"

"For what you did in there; calm us down," Rose told him, meaning herself and Sherlock.

"You're very welcome. I'm glad I was here. I had a feeling it would go poorly," he admitted. "Though I didn't see Sherlock as the one lashing out like that. I had Mycroft pegged."

"Me too," she admitted. "That was really odd."

"Don't worry about it anymore. You just rest for now; we'll sort it all out later. After all, you're not going anywhere," he pointed out with a smile. John watched Rose fight to keep her eyes open and chuckled. "No book for you. Sleep. I'll leave the door open a bit, call if you need me, yeah?"

"Mmm," was the only response he had as Rose closed her eyes again. He pressed a kiss to her forehead before exiting the bedroom.

"That, gentlemen, was very well done," John scolded. "I told you both you had to be careful with her. She's not up for this. Discussions, ones with talking, don't need to include shouting and provoking her into hysterics. You're lucky she didn't end up back in hospital Sherlock."

"I know," he admitted. "I got carried away."

"It's not going to happen again. I won't allow it. Her best interests come before your need to shout or bellow or anything else. I said it at hospital and I'll say it again to you both: neither of you are doing _anything_ until I say differently." John squared his shoulders and gave both Holmes brothers a very stern look. "Am I clear?"

"Very," Mycroft stated. "We can wait."

Sherlock nodded his agreement. "I didn't mean to upset her. I hadn't considered she'd react so strongly."

John rolled his eyes. Sometimes it was completely unfathomable that someone as brilliant as Sherlock did not understand something as basic as human emotions.

"Clearly you didn't. I know it wasn't your intention to upset her so badly," John admitted. "But it can't happen again. Now, I'm going to make a cuppa. Anyone want one? Then we really need to sit down and figure out what we _are_ going to do with her when she's well. Or, if you two have decided already, I'd like to hear the plan."

"We're going to spank her. That's the plan," Sherlock said.

"We?"

"We," Mycroft confirmed. "Sherlock and I think she needs a firm response from us both. Nothing over the top," he assured John. "I'll be giving her a hand spanking and Sherlock will finish up from there."

John looked at his flat mate, an eyebrow quirked.

Sherlock looked distinctly uncomfortable, but nodded. "With a strap. Just a dozen though."

John let out a low whistle. "Won't be nice, but she deserves it. And there will be a calm conversation discussing all this first, yeah?"

Another nod.

"Do you… own a strap?" John asked suddenly.

Now it was Mycroft's turn to look a bit uncomfortable. "I do."

Both eyebrows went up this time. "Rose wasn't kidding," he murmured to himself.

Mycroft frowned. "Explain, please."

"You've got an arsenal of nasty things," he chuckled. "Rose told me you did and I didn't quite believe her."

Mycroft's eyebrow rose. "I raised him, after all," he stated, indicating Sherlock. "And that's where all of it came from. He was, well… unmanageable. Had to figure out what worked."

John laughed as Sherlock blushed bright red. "I can believe that, I really can." He chuckled again before sobering. "Well, I don't pose any objections, provided you two wait until she's better first. Unfortunately, I have a feeling her recovery process is going to be very difficult… for us."

Both Holmes brothers nodded in agreement.

"And thus the long road of recovery begins," Mycroft stated before giving a resigned sigh. God help Sherlock and John, he thought to himself. It was going to be very rough road indeed.


	17. The Long Road to Recovery, Part II

NOTE: The prequel has been posted under the title "Raising a Wildflower." I have decided to turn that into a depository for one-shot fics about Rose's growing years, whenever I have plot bunnies that strike me!

x

It was 7:30 and the flat was blissfully quiet. Sherlock was even asleep! With any luck he'd sleep another hour or so and John could enjoy the silence of the morning. And then he heard footsteps on the stairs and the door opened. He looked up from his newspaper and sighed. "You could text, you know. Or at least knock."

"I wouldn't hold out any hope for that if I were you, John," Mycroft retorted.

John rolled his eyes. "If you're going to grace us with your presence so early, you could at least bring breakfast. However, since you are here, help yourself to some tea."

Mycroft nodded and entered the kitchen to fix a cup of tea.

"Come to plague us with your presence?" Sherlock grumbled as he entered the sitting room and caught sight of his brother.

"Good to see you brother. You look awful," Mycroft commented smugly.

Sherlock scowled. "The lie-low and I don't get on."

"Perhaps you should purchase bunk beds then."

"You're an idiot. Go home Mycroft."

"And you two are a bit much in the morning," John pointed out. "She still asleep?"

"Yes." In actuality, Sherlock didn't begrudge giving his bed up for Rose. It was an easy sacrifice to make for her, given her recent trauma and just being out of hospital. He was more than willing to keep her closer and watch over her, even if that relegated him to the lie-low.

x

It was hot. _So _hot. It burned her flesh before digging in deeply. She gasped and clutched at her chest, feeling warm blood spill out. It was covering her and she could hardly breathe, let alone call for help. Her face felt warm and wet and she was shaking.

No, she wasn't actually shaking; Rose was being shook.

"Rose! Rose, wake up!" She could hear Mycroft's stern voice issuing the order. "It was a bad dream, wake up now!"

"Do you have sedatives?" Sherlock whispered to John.

The doctor shook his head no. "I was hoping we wouldn't need them."

"ROSENWYN!" Mycroft bellowed.

Suddenly she jerked awake, her eyes opening wide before rapidly blinking. The faces of three very concerned men, her 'boys' as she affectionately thought of them, were looking down at her.

"It was hot and I was wet and I could feel the blood and it went in." Rose said in a rush before bursting into a fresh wave of tears.

Sherlock moved to sit on the bed beside her, but Mycroft frowned and waved him away. He stood aside, watching to see what his elder brother would do.

With an ease that surprised them all, Mycroft lifted Rose off the bed and sat down, holding her on his lap. While he may have been caught unaware by her sudden need for comfort the day before, when Mycroft was prepared for it, he could in fact cuddle, even if it felt slightly awkward at times. This time it didn't.

"There there," he soothed. "You're alright Poppet, I've got you. No one is going to hurt you ever again, I promise. It was a bad dream, but you're alright. I'm here and you're here and safe and Sherlock and John are here too." Mycroft looked up at the other men and motioned with his head for them to leave. The brothers shared a look before Sherlock nodded and left, with John following behind.

"My, I felt it, I felt all the blood and my chest and I'm so scared My, I'm scared!" Rose sobbed out, clinging to him.

Mindful of her injuries, Mycroft held her as tightly as he could. "You have to calm down Poppet. John's going to come back in here and get fussy with you if you don't," he pointed out in a soft, soothing tone. "You're on the mend but we must take care of that lung. There's nothing to be scared of anymore. It was just a dream, no one is here to hurt you, I promise Poppet."

He began carding his hand through her curly hair, remembering she'd liked that when she was younger. Apparently she still did and Mycroft was relieved to see her calming down and attempting to take deep breaths. "Good girl," he murmured. "I'm so sorry Rose; so sorry."

The room was quiet for a few moments and he was almost convinced she'd fallen asleep again when Rose finally spoke. "What are you sorry for? You didn't give me a nightmare," she felt compelled to point out.

"I know. But I wasn't there," Mycroft admitted. "I wasn't there and you were hurt. I should have been there."

Rose frowned. "None of that was your fault. It was mine. I was the idiot who didn't tell anyone what was going on. You were just being a good big brother and not spying on me or hacking my phone or anything else that you used to do. I'm the one that kept you from being there."

"I have the sneaking suspicion that if I hadn't done all those things in the past that you would have come to me sooner for help."

She didn't know how to respond to that, particularly since it was true, and Rose really had to think about what to say. Her silence, however, confirmed that he was right.

"You always did your best Mycroft," Rose finally said. "You were trying to watch out for me. I understand that now, but I couldn't before I left."

"Because you felt I was trying to control you," Mycroft stated. He'd suspected that was the reason from the moment she'd disappeared.

Rose nodded. "Yes, that's precisely what I thought. Even though I know differently now, I didn't want us to go back to that same place, where you were the concerned and suspicious brother and I was the bratty and uncontrollable little sister. That's why I didn't reach out until I got really scared."

Mycroft pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I only wanted to protect you. Someday, if you have children of your own, you'll understand how scary it is to see them going out in the world doing who knows what. It was worse for me because I know precisely how terrible the world can be."

He closed his eyes, waiting for her to remind him, once again, that he wasn't her father. Despite that being the case, it hurt each time she said it. Rose was the closest thing to his own child he'd ever have. But, she didn't. When Mycroft opened his eyes, he saw the quiet tears trailing down her face. "What's this about?" he questioned, reaching for his handkerchief.

"I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry Mycroft."

"Poppet, I know you are. I know you'll never keep something like this from us again."

She shook her head. "Not that."

He gently dried her face, frowning as he tried to think of what she meant. "Then for what?"

"For hurting you, when I left," Rose whispered. "Which doesn't mean I think its all fine for you to hack my phone and spy on me and all that other nonsense. But I never stopped to think how much it would hurt you when I left. I knew it would hurt Sherlock, but I didn't think about you."

Mycroft tutted. "Don't worry about that now, Poppet. It doesn't matter anymore."

"Yes, it does," Rose said firmly. "For all your obnoxious habits, My… I'm trying to think of the right words. You just… You were good. You did good."

"I did good at what, precisely? I'm not quite following you."

She groaned. "Sometimes you're very dense My. Should have known I'd have to spell it out for you. You were good… at…at being a dad/brother combination. Which is a really awkward way to phrase it, I admit that. You just did a really good job being my dad without actually being my dad. I get that now, now that I've been out in the world and all that. I suppose you're as good as any old dad, I bet."

"That's a terrible thing to tease about Rose," Mycroft replied quietly, not believing she was serious.

"I'm not teasing," she replied, shifting so she could look up at him. "I mean that. You were still a git sometimes, still are sometimes, but I really do mean that."

He felt a lump in his throat and tried hard to swallow it so he could respond. "Why tell me this now?" he finally asked.

"Because I didn't know how to bring it up before I suppose," Rose told him with a sigh. "Guess it took nearly dying for me to decide I should probably tell you. Don't get too excited about it though! You're still an idiot sometimes and you're still annoying and all those things that big brothers are. I just recognize the other stuff too."

Mycroft looked puzzled, then threw back his head and laughed. "Only in this family do you tell someone you love them and then proceed to call them an idiot. And I tried _so _hard to make you normal."

"Well, that clearly failed," Rose snickered. "And it's okay that we aren't a normal family. Normal is boring. Don't forget though, you still annoy me just the way a big brother should. This little fluffy moment of ours just now changes nothing, just so you're aware. I'm not buying you a card come Father's Day or anything. We're still us, just as we always were."

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"I still completely resent you for thinking you've a right to spank me when I'm almost twenty and I'll still throw things at you when you're mean and I'll have a tantrum if you hack my mobile or laptop," she answered.

"Ah, I see. Well I still think you're a horrid little brat who is too old to throw anything and shouldn't threaten a tantrum in the same sentence as protesting your coming spanking," Mycroft quipped. "Defeats the purpose of your argument, Rosenwyn. See? Nothing's changed at all. You'll annoy, I'll scold, and we'll go on as we always have."

"I'm glad. Whatever would I do if I didn't have you to be annoyed by?"

"And what would I do if I didn't have you to worry about and scold? I still wish you'd come home though."

"My! I give you one little compliment and now you want the moon," Rose replied with a scowl. "Idiot."

"Beastly child!"

x

"They've been in there a really long time," Sherlock commented, watching his bedroom door closely.

"She was upset, it's just fine for them to have a cuddle," John pointed out.

"Mycroft doesn't cuddle."

The doctor rolled his eyes. "Well of _course _he didn't cuddle _you_, Sherlock; you're _you_. She, on the other hand, is a whole other matter.

"But that's my job, the cuddle bit," Sherlock stated with an air of annoyance. Didn't John _know_these things?

"Well she almost died Sherlock, what do you expect? Even Mycroft is allowed a bit of sentiment; as strange as that sounds when I say it," John murmured. It was really hard to imagine Mycroft, of all people, as sentimental, even when it came to Rose.

Before too much longer, Mycroft and Rose emerged from the bedroom. "You always look so _little_ when you first wake up," Sherlock said with a chuckle. He reached for Rose's wrist, pulling her closer to him, and then sat her on his lap. "Just like when you were little. Bare feet, sleepy eyes, and a wild mess of curls."

"No sleepy eyes right now," Rose murmured. "Been up for a bit. Someone tell me there's coffee, or there will be shortly?"

John chuckled. "I'll make you some, love. Breakfast too? We've got hash browns and eggs or I can go raid your flat for food."

"Hash browns with cheese please, unless Sherlock's done something funny to the cheese again," Rose decided.

"No, cheese is good, just got it," John assured her.

"John makes very good breakfasts," Rose told Mycroft. "I have breakfast here every morning and he almost always has the coffee ready by the time I arrive."

"I wouldn't call it an arrival," Sherlock interjected. "It's more of a stumble, to the point that it's a miracle you actually make it inside before you fall over and beg for coffee."

"I only fell over once," Rose scolded, lightly smacking his arm. "And that was because you'd left something in the middle of the floor!"

"The coffee table you mean?"

She blushed. "Yes; hate you."

"Insufferable brat," he responded playfully before kissing her forehead. "Feeling better?"

"Yes. Mycroft cuddled me and it was nice," she said with a smile. Rose felt quite content just then, aside from needing her coffee. "Jawwwwwwn!" She called, stretching John's name out into a bit of a whine. "Is the coffee ready?"

"Demanding little thing, aren't you?" John responded, laughing. "Yes, it just finished!"

Rose practically bounded off Sherlock's lap in her eagerness to get to the coffee, narrowly missing the coffee table.

x

"Aw, would you look at you lot! You all almost look normal," Lestrade commented upon his arrival at 221B. "Practically domestic in fact."

Rose was sprawled out on the couch with a book, her legs across Mycroft's lap, who was reading the newspaper and ignoring her completely. Sherlock sat at the other end, his leg serving as a pillow while he played with John's laptop.

"Oh look! A gentleman caller, just for me," Rose replied dramatically. She grinned and waved Lestrade into the flat.

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Rose, really."

"I am here, just for you," Greg confirmed. "Certainly wouldn't be giving these to Sherlock." He held out a bouquet of a dozen pink roses. "They alright? I texted John but he didn't know for sure what your favorite color was."

"Well then you are in luck, because pink is my favorite color," she told him with a smile. "Come sit. How are you faring without me around?"

"Slightly less lively, miss my coffee deliveries. I _suppose _I miss you as well. Mostly the coffee though," he teased.

Rose got up to find a vase for her roses as Lestrade sat on the couch. "Hmm. My caller isn't much of a gentleman after all," she quipped. "If you really only miss the coffee rather than my perfectly delightful self."

Sherlock snorted. "Oh yes, you're _so _delightful Rose-"

"When you're sleeping," Mycroft finished.

"Well I like her well enough," Lestrade said, laughing. "Good worker, often amusing, brings me coffee twice a day."

Rose's eyebrow quirked. "So I'm essentially a glorified server?"

Lestrade held up his hands in surrender. "That is not at all what I meant, I promise," he laughed again. Despite the laughter, he quickly sobered and gave her a _look_. "Have they talked to you? About how foolish you were? Do you have any idea what he could have done to you?" he asked quietly.

Rose blushed. "Sort of. Sherlock bellowed yesterday, which was really odd, and then I cried and jumped on Mycroft and frightened him and then John made me take a nap, so…" Her voice trailed off.

"We're getting there," Sherlock assured Lestrade. "John's forbidden us from upsetting her for the time being."

"Got a sad lung right now," she explained quietly.

"Well at least it and you are around to be sad," Lestrade pointed out gently. "If you don't want to tell these two about something-" He paused to indicate Mycroft and Sherlock. "Tell me. I'm normal and generally very reasonable and I _care_."

Rose nodded, her eyes downcast. "I know. I'm really sorry I was an idiot."

Lestrade reached over and patted her shoulder. "I'm not here to be upset with you, that's your brothers' job, not mine. I merely wanted to let you know I'm around."

This time she gave him a smile. "Thanks."

"And no rush coming back. Not until John says you can and not if he says yes but you're too tired. Though I do actually sort of miss having you around."

"Aw, that's so sweet," Rose grinned. She could practically feel Mycroft's eyes rolling behind her and it made her giggle. It was sort of fun having him around!

x

"Rest means rest, not cooking," John said sternly later that evening. "And we know Sherlock isn't going to cook, so it's me or Mycroft and I don't know if he _can _cook or not."

"Not really, we have a cook at home. Always have. He used to make me special breakfasts though when I was little," Rose admitted.

"Special breakfasts?"

"Pancakes. And not just any pancakes, _bear _pancakes. With little ears and chocolate chip eyes and a whip cream smile. Teddy bear pancakes, just for me."

"You make him sound human and that's frightening me a bit," John teased before sobering. "I mean it though. Back on the couch or a chair or a bed and rest. Or have someone take you for a walk if you're tired of sitting."

Her eyebrows went up. "Take me for a walk, John? That's… rather insulting," she decided.

"Take you on a walk then. Or go with you on a walk, or whatever you want to call it. But no cooking. Maybe tomorrow if you're good and rest up," John said. He kissed the top of her head before turning her back to facing the sitting room and sending her on her way to the couch with a light smack.

Rose let out an indignant squeak and hurried over to the couch, where she sat down and stuck her tongue out at him. As soon as she plopped onto the couch her mobile notified her of a text and she reached over to pick it up…

Only to have Mycroft intercept her. "Who is this? Do you know an Alfred? Sherlock, what do you know about an Alfred?"

"Alfred is my dance partner and a perfectly nice fellow," Rose said. "Give me back my mobile Mycroft. This is not going to work if you think you can just take my mobile, screen my calls, and make a mental list of people to do background checks on later when you go home. Completely unacceptable and I won't have it."

"Don't be smart," Mycroft scolded. He did not like her tone!

"Don't be smart," Rose mimicked in a high pitched voice.

Mycroft glared at Sherlock. "I blame you entirely for that."

Sherlock ignored him completely.

"Mobile, Mycroft. Immediately. You cannot steal my mobile, you cannot background check my friends, you cannot screen my calls, you can't do _anything_ with my mobile, other than hand it over, or I'm really going to be angry," Rose threatened.

Rolling his eyes, he handed it over. "Always so dramatic Rose. I just want to protect you."

"I'm reconsidering everything I said earlier during cuddle time, just so you're aware."

Sherlock snorted. "Cuddle time! That's hilarious!"

"I live in an insane asylum," Rose grumbled as she entered her password. She read the message: 'How are you? Can I stop by tomorrow?'

'Sure, anytime. I'm being held prisoner.'

'When will they release you?'

Rose looked up from the message. "John! Alfred wants to know when I can go back to the studio again."

"Two weeks from yesterday," he responded.

Over her head, Sherlock and Mycroft shared a knowing look. 'Wait for it…' he mouthed as Rose began typing again.

'John said two we-'

"WHAT?!" Rose shrieked.

"You heard me, two weeks from yesterday."

"Are you absolutely insane? John, I have a competition in four weeks! I cannot wait two weeks to start practicing again! No, absolutely not!" Rose declared. "You are utterly ridiculous and I refuse to abide by that. Completely and utterly refuse!"

"You're so wordy when you rant, Rose," Sherlock grumbled. "And very shrill."

John looked up from the stove top and pinned Rose with a hard look. "This is not a negotiation. You just got out of hospital yesterday, your bloody lung collapsed, you had _surgery_. How can it possibly surprise you in the slightest that you need two weeks rest? Weren't you listening to the discharge instructions yesterday?!"

Her face turned a bit pink. "No…. I figured you were listening and that was good enough," she admitted.

"Well then it's a good thing I'm a doctor isn't it? And your doctor at that," John retorted. "Or you'd already be back in hospital! Again, this is _not _a negotiation young lady. You're recovering, don't make me be so stern with you and don't be so damn stubborn!"

"OH MY GOD!" Rose yelled. "You're going to ruin my life John. I'm going to lose the competition and it will be entirely your fault. Are you happy with yourself?"

"I'm plenty happy with myself, so long as you're still in one piece," John retorted. "The answer is no. No studio, no dancing, no overly strenuous activity for two weeks. You're lucky I'm letting you go to your competition at all, miss!"

"Who do you think you are?!" Rose shrieked. "Sherlock, tell him he can't do that! Tell him! He's not my brother! He can't do that!"

"Rose…" Sherlock said warningly.

She threw a pillow at him and began shrieking again when suddenly she stopped and began coughing. And coughing, and coughing!

"That's plenty, Rosenwyn. Absolutely plenty," Mycroft thundered. "_Not _another word or you're going to the corner, coughing or no coughing."

"Shut up Mycroft!" she shouted through her coughs.

Mycroft got up from the couch and started walking towards her, looking anything but pleased.

"No, I didn't meant that, I-" Rose coughed again and struggled to catch her breath.

"It's a miracle you made it to nineteen, Rose," John groused as he came over to see to her. "Mycroft has shown incredible restrain. I think I would have smothered in your sleep long before this." Of course he didn't mean a word of it.

Her only response was a scowl.

"We thought about that," Sherlock quipped. "Lots actually."

"Now, slow it down. Breathe slowly; don't try to get so much air in. It's going to hurt in a minute," he instructed. "You've got to calm down Rose. Eyes on me; breathe in, slowly, slowly. And out slowly. It's alright to cough, that's just how your lung is supposed to respond."

By the time she caught her breath again, Rose was white as a sheet and her chest hurt terribly.

"Calm again? Aren't going to strop anymore?" John checked, his voice gentle this time.

Rose shook her head no.

"Good girl. No more of that, alright? I know you're angry, I know you love to dance and want to do brilliantly at competition. But I would like you to actually still be _alive_ for your competition. So stop being stroppy. Just… pout quietly if you have to," he suggested. "That won't hurt you at all."

"Mycroft is going to do me bodily harm in a moment," Rose whispered.

"I highly doubt that," John chuckled. "Now go sit down. Sherlock, get her some water. Our supper is going to burn in a minute if I don't get back to it."

Rose gave her eldest brother a tiny smile and sat down on the couch as far away from him as she could.

"Do you even know how _completely_ ridiculous you are, Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes? That was disgraceful," Mycroft scolded.

"I'm sorry I told you to shut up," she mumbled, picking at the pocket of her dressing gown. "Dancing is just really important to me."

"And having a tantrum was likely to change John's medical opinion of your condition?"

"Well, no," she began tentatively.

"Precisely." Mycroft crooked his finger at her.

"Mycroft," Sherlock said warningly. "I don't think that's appropriate just now. You'll make her howl, which isn't anymore conducive to her breathing properly than screaming is. You can smack her later."

The eldest Holmes looked distinctly displeased at the fact that Sherlock was right.

"And in any case, supper is ready," John announced.

x

The second day of her imprisonment, as Rose liked to call it, went fairly well. Mycroft was over again, but she spent some time with Mrs. Hudson and brought back fresh scones for everyone, and let them think she'd only sat and chatted rather than get her hands dirty and bake alongside the beloved landlady.

The third day, however, was quickly becoming problematic. Mycroft was taking her mobile every time it chirped; he was also being harassed by the Prime Minister who was threatening to call their employer, which only served to make Mycroft more irritable than he generally was.

As four o'clock in the afternoon rolled around, Rose left him alone to answer yet another call, and made herself more coffee. That was the only nice thing about being home all day: coffee all day! That and Sherlock and John were spoiling her and that had its appeal as well. It was sweet how much they worried over her. If only Mycroft's worry manifested itself in sweetness, rather than suspicions and general crankiness.

"Rose, what number cup of coffee is that today?" Mycroft asked when she reappeared in the sitting room.

"Oh, you're done already? I figured you'd have to step out and shout again," she admitted.

"That's not an answer to my question."

"Uh… sixish?"

Mycroft frowned. "Are you asking or telling?"

Rose groaned and would have given anything just then to be with Sherlock at St. Barts, even if it meant doing icky things with people's innards. "Telling I suppose."

"That's really very unhealthy. You should be drinking water, much, much more water than coffee."

He received an eye roll for his troubles. "Yeah, because that's _totally _the same thing. You're an idiot and a helicopter parent, do you know that? A helicopter parent Mycroft. Think on that. In fact, go think on that at home, would you? Sometimes I love you so much more when you're not… you know… not here."

John sat back in his chair with his own cup of coffee watching the exchange between siblings as if it were some sort of special on the BBC about an unchartered terrain or new species that was discovered. They really made no sense to him sometimes. What it must have been like growing up in that house!

And while he knew he should stay out of it, it was like a train wreck. You knew you shouldn't look, but couldn't help doing it anyway. "Do you seriously love him more when he's not here?"

Rose's eyebrow quirked. "Well, obviously John. I'm not certain why that isn't obvious to you. He doesn't annoy me when he's away from me. Therefore I love him more because he's not annoying me."

Mycroft was frowning in concentration more than anything else. "What exactly is a "helicopter parent" Rose? You just make things like that up so I feel old and out of touch with the world, don't you?"

"No, that's an actual thing," Rose assured him. "Heard it round the studio. All the teens say it, when their parents are overbearing and annoying and won't leave them alone as if they're very life depends upon continued second-by-second involvement in their affairs."

"You need a "helicopter parent," which has to be one of the most idiotic expressions I've ever heard," Mycroft decided. "But you need one, if not a 24/7 minder."

She let out an exaggerated groan. "Mycroft, please listen to me and listen to me very carefully. This is important. If you do not go back to work tomorrow, I'm going to become a terrorist and I mean that very sincerely."

He gave her a smug, superior look and said. "I'll let you."

"Yeah, your club that you like? First on the hit list," Rose informed him.

"What sort of terrorist?" John interjected.

"A terrifying terrorist, obviously," Rose snickered.

"They were monsters growing up, weren't they? She and Sherlock."

"You have _no _idea, I assure you," Mycroft said in all sincerity.

"I'm not a monster! Nor have I ever been! I was… delightful," she responded after settling on an adjective.

Mycroft made a noise suspiciously resembling a snort. "Until about age six."

"Mycroft, _do _shut it, will you?"

Another smug look crossed his face. "Do keep in mind, sister mine, I'm going to remember this. _All _of this, when it comes time to spank you."

Rose's jaw dropped. "That is completely inappropriate Mycroft. I'm on medication and I'm recovering. I'm very heavily medicated in fact."

"You're like this _constantly_ Rose, without medical assistance."

Rose shook her head and turned to John. "Brothers are really an abomination on this earth, do you know that? You're so lucky you've just got Harry."

"And what are sisters then?" Mycroft inquired.

"Do you really need to ask, My? Clearly we are angelic creatures from heaven. That should be abundantly obvious. I'd be perfectly lovely if you weren't here."

"You know, in her defense, she typically is rather lovely," John felt compelled to point out. "You don't bring out her best side by any means."

"Aw! John, that's very sweet," Rose decided, giving him a grin. "See Mycroft? Why do you have to be a bear? You should be more like John; he's always sweet to me."

"Good, he can have you then."

"You're still here?" Sherlock asked, appearing in the doorway of the flat. "Mycroft, you have a home, why can't you just go there and _stay _there."

"It's like a special kind of hell Sherlock, it really is," Rose stated with a sigh.

"Try raising you, Rose. _That _is a special kind of hell," Mycroft replied.

"Lord, you were never any fun Mycroft. At all." She tossed a pillow at him.

"Must you throw things like a child?"

"It's a pillow; it won't hurt you, poor darling." Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"I suppose that's better than a teapot or potted plant, if one must have something thrown at them," Mycroft admitted.

John waited for him to laugh; only Mycroft didn't laugh. "Oh my god, you're serious? She threw a potted plant at you?"

Sherlock started laughing. "I remember that! It was hilarious!"

Mycroft scowled. "It was anything but hilarious when I fell over and lost consciousness on the lawn."

"Admittedly not one of my brighter moments," Rose grumbled. "And I paid for it. But honestly, in the moment, it was totally worth it. Absolutely glorious, it really was John."

"She's right, it was," Sherlock nodded, having gained control of his laughter.

John stared at them both for a long moment before turning to Mycroft. "I never thought I'd feel sorry for you Mycroft, ever. Right now, I do."

At just that moment, Mycroft's mobile rang for what seemed like the hundredth time that day. Getting up, he helped himself to Sherlock's room for a bit of privacy. He emerged several minutes later.

"Something has come up and I actually do have to go to work now. My employer sends her best and hopes you heal well. She's sending round tea and biscuits," Mycroft told Rose.

As soon as he exited the building, Rose and Sherlock let out dual sighs of relief. "Never thought he'd leave. You're a horrible brother for abandoning me like that."

"I assumed you didn't want me to murder him. Was I wrong?"

"No, but still, you owe me. I'd like chocolate ice cream, and I mean immediately," Rose told him with a grin.

Sherlock kissed the top of her head before going out in search of ice cream.


	18. Music Makes Me

Rose had been home from hospital for a week and John had finally felt comfortable leaving her to her own devices for a day while he went back to work. She'd been a remarkably good patient in the days after Mycroft had gone back to work. So much so, in fact, that what happened when he came home the evening of the seventh day, was completely unexpected. Though in retrospect, it shouldn't have been. This was Rose after all.

"Oh, John, you're back!" Mrs. Hudson called out before opening her door. "I don't know what Rose is doing up in her flat, but it sounds like a herd of elephants in there. Would you ask her to quiet it down a bit when you go up? I would, but my hip."

John frowned for a moment before hearing a heavy thud on the floor. That was odd. "Uh, yeah, sure. I'll check in on her." He hurried up the stairs and opened the door of Rose's flat.

_Two Hours Earlier_

"Alfred, you cannot be serious," Rose said with a sigh. "No, I take that back. Bonnie can't be serious. The boys are never going to let me do a swing dance at the recital. I'm lucky they're letting me go to the competition."

"Only because they don't think you can do it," Alfred pointed out with a grin. "Wouldn't it be great to show them wrong?"

Rose pursed her lips as she contemplated the idea of it. "You know, it really would. Especially John. I adore him, don't get me wrong, but he fusses all the time now since I came home." Not that she blamed him. Well, she didn't really mind it either if she really sat and thought about it.

"Well I'd want to use period appropriate music," she said by way of agreement.

"Louise mentioned you're fussy about that. I thought she was kidding," he laughed.

"So, what's the dance and what's the song choice then? This is very rehearsed Alfred, I can tell. Not that I object, but just so you know."

Alfred grinned. "Okay, so I sort of choreographed the whole thing. Just to save you the time! And you never let me do it anyway."

"That's no… Wait, actually that is true," Rose said sheepishly.

"It's ok, I don't mind it. You're funny when you're bossy. You sound like that oldest brother of yours."

"OH MY GOD! Don't be insulting Alfred! That's the most horrible thing anyone has ever said to me in my whole life!" Rose shouted before hitting him with a pillow. "Anyway, we'll have to move the couch if we're going to work in here. I know for sure I'm not allowed to go to the studio, but nobody said anything about my flat."

He nodded. "Technicalities are the key to success. And I picked a song I know you'll like! Louise said you're big into Dean Martin, so we found a faster paced recording of one she's seen you sing."

She smiled at him. "I like the way your mind works, Alfred Mellor. You're devious and cunning and I like that. Let's move the couch!"

_Present_

The noise was growing louder as John shot up the stairs. The door to Rose's flat was unlocked, so he opened it, completely unprepared for what he saw. Feet flying, hips swinging, Alfred leaned over and Rose went head first over his back. Alfred scrambled to catch her but didn't and Rose hit the floor with a thud.

Before she even realized the door was open, John was at her side, hand on a shoulder, looking her over with that discerning doctor's eye of his. "Oh… hello," she greeted softly.

"Are you alright?" John asked. "That sounded like it hurt."

"No, I'm fine," Rose hurried to assure him. She looked up at him and cringed, realizing that was the wrong thing to say, or the wrong moment for him to walk in, or all of the above, when he stood up and towered over her. Arms crossed over his chest, John glared at her and appeared to be struggling to control his temper.

"Oh god," she murmured.

"You, what the _hell _were you doing?" John demanded of her. "And you," he paused to give Alfred a pointed look, "are leaving _now._ Whether or not I escort you out is up to you."

Alfred gulped and nodded. "Yes, sir. Bye Rose!" He grabbed his coat and dashed out the door, leaving her sitting on the floor.

"Get up, right now, miss," John directed in that Captain Watson tone. That tone didn't leave room for an argument and Rose hurriedly got to her feet.

"Have you gone _completely_ insane? What the _hell _is wrong with you? You've been out of hospital seven days. Seven, Rose! Seven!"

"Did you want any of those questions answered?" Rose asked meekly.

"No, they're rhetorical, because you have to be absolutely bonkers to be mucking about like this!" John thundered. "And where is your couch?!" He had just now noticed the absence of it, and the rest of her furniture, from the living room.

She bit her lip. "I'd rather not say."

"That is not an option!"

"Uh, well… We moved it to the bedroom."

John's face grew darker. "We as in not just Alfred? In what world, exactly, is moving a sleeper couch not considered strenuous physical activity?"

"That's the bit you're mad about?" Rose asked, feeling horribly confused.

"NO! But let's take your completely inappropriate actions one at a time, shall we? Answer the question: in what world does that not constitute the sort of physical activity your physician at hospital and I told to avoid?" John demanded.

"Well…" There was no good way to answer this and she knew it. "The world in my head for one. But I'm gathering that world is wrong."

"_Very _wrong," John agreed. "I almost don't even know what to say to you! My god, do you actually value your own life? You could have gone into cardiac arrest! What don't you understand about the fact that you had surgery?"

"But I didn't though! We'd been at it an age, he just can't get that one part, so I kept falling and… I'm not helping my case, am I?"

"You are _this _close," he began, indicating a very small space between his thumb and index finger. "_This _close to having a smacked bottom. Is that what you want Rose? Because if it is, I'd be more than happy to oblige! How long were you at this? Answer me!" he shouted when she hesitated.

"Couple hours I suppose, or somewhere in there. John, I can explain, really, just give me a moment to think of something!" Rose pleaded.

That tiny bit of leeway he'd indicated vanished at her confession of having been dancing for two hours. "Oh, no you can't," he decided. "Because there is no valid explanation for this! Come here _now, _right here." John pointed to a spot right in front of him, his tone and the look on his face making it very clear he was to be obeyed.

So Rose obeyed.

John promptly pulled her closer and tucked her under one arm. With that accomplished he began delivering hearty swats to her behind. "Clearly, you're all better, aren't you? Well guess what that means, miss? It means I'm giving your brothers the go-ahead to have at you for all that stalker nonsense!"

"Ow, ow, ow! John! That hurts!" Rose yelped as she tried to wiggle her bum out of harm's way. Unfortunately, her attempts were unsuccessful. "I didn't think about that John! No, don't tell them that! Owww! Oww! We can talk like adults I swear!"

"No, I don't think we can," he said sternly, continuing to spank her. "I think this is our best method of communication at the moment. And I don't care to hear it if you disagree! Absolutely ridiculous, there just aren't even words in the English language for me to express how displeased I am! So this will have to do. And if you're well enough to push couches and dance for two hours and leap over Alfred like that, you are _definitely _well enough for a sound spanking which is exactly what I'm telling Sherlock and Mycroft."

After a few more sharp swats, John stopped and stood her up in front of him. "Are we clear about how unacceptable this was?"

Silent tears were streaking down Rose's cheeks as she nodded.

"I think a "yes, sir," wouldn't be amiss just now," John decided, still using that Captain tone.

"Yes, John," she replied. "We're clear."

Before she could say anything else John pulled her close once again, this time to wrap his arms around her and hold her tightly. "God help the man you marry someday Rosenwyn Holmes, because you are a handful if ever I saw one," he grumbled in a much softer tone.

"I'm sorry."

He tipped her head up and looked in her eyes. "It would be really helpful for you if you'd stop and think for thirty seconds or so before you agree to things, yeah? Honestly it would help you so much, because then I wouldn't have to do this. I don't _like_ doing this."

"I don't either," Rose admitted, reaching back to rub her bum. "You know I'm not deliberately trying to provoke you or anything right?"

John chuckled. "Of course, love. But you do a fine job of it all the same." He hugged her tighter, resting his chin on top of her head. "I'd rather like to keep you around, you know. Stop making that so hard, yeah?"

"I don't plan on going anywhere, just so you know. No disappearing," she whispered.

"I'm very glad to hear that. I've grown rather attached to you."

For some reason the way he said that made her giggle a bit. "I suppose I'm slightly attached to you as well. I'd be more attached if you stopped smacking me like you've got a right to or something."

John snorted. "Stop giving me opportunities to do it and I won't have to."

Rose pulled back and gave him a skeptical look. "You make it sound as if I provide some sort of invitation for you to take undue liberties with my personage."

"Big words for such a silly girl," he teased, giving her a week. "But yeah, you rather do. You're exceptionally naughty sometimes."

She groaned loudly. "I hate that word, really I do. Are you done scolding yet?"

"I am," John confirmed. "So, on to the next bit of business."

"Which is?"

"You're going next door to tell Sherlock what you were up to," he told her sternly.

"Can we skip that bit if I promise to buy you cupcakes?"

"No, we can't, miss. Putting it off won't make it better, off you go," John instructed, giving her a smack to send her off.

She yelped, and then promptly turned around to stick her tongue out at him.

XYZ

"You're always so dramatic John," Sherlock grumbled. He was busy trying to reproduce a certain chemical effect on some plaid material on the kitchen table and wasn't quite paying attention to what John said.

"Sherlock, did you not hear all that racket in her flat?!"

"Nope," the other man replied, making the 'p' pop as he said it.

"She was swing dancing Sherlock, and leaping over that boy's back. He let her fall on the floor. She could have really gotten injured, not to mention the fact that she had surgery a week ago."

"Don't mention it then," Rose grumbled, standing somewhat behind John. She hoped beyond hope that her brother would continue to be too distracted by his experiment to pay any actual attention to John.

The detective sighed heavily. "John, I don't know why you're so…" He stopped and looked up at John, the other man's words finally registering. "She _what_?!" That was when he spotted Rose standing slightly behind John, biting her lip.

"No," he decided. "Come over here and explain all this nonsense to me. You do still have connected brain cells in that head of yours, correct? I really wonder sometimes. Maybe Mycroft dropped you on your head more often than I was aware of."

Rose shrugged a bit, moving out from behind John but no closer to Sherlock. "Music makes me do the things I never should do," she said helplessly.

An eyebrow quirked. "You know who I am, Rosenwyn. _That _doesn't work," Sherlock responded disdainfully.

"What doesn't?" John asked.

"That's a Fred Astaire lyric," Sherlock explained before turning back to his sister. "Oh Rose; if you're so convinced you're indestructible, guess what? We are too! So I'm telling Mycroft that you're all better now."

"You've never even seen _Flying Down to Rio,_" Rose grumbled. "And Alfred kept dropping me on my bum! Plus John already spanked me!" Rose protested. "So really, I'm too sore. We can wait to tell Mycroft, right?"

"How unfortunate," he drawled, anything but sympathetic. "Perhaps you shouldn't let your dance partner drop you so often if you don't want an already sore bottom before you have a spanking." Pulling out his mobile, Sherlock began texting Mycroft.

'You'll never guess. SH'

'Rose has done something, hasn't she? M'

'She thinks she's invincible. SH'

'That's hardly new. M'

'John says we can spank her now. SH'

'I don't think the word "rest" even exists in her vocabulary. Ridiculous girl. M'

'On that, brother, we are agreed. SH'

XYZ

Thirty minutes later, Rose's mobile went off. With a sigh she picked it up, looked at the ID briefly and then answered.

"I hate talking on mobile, please text me," she said and promptly hung up.

Mycroft, however, was not deterred and chuckled as he called her again. "I hear you've been misbehaving again, sister mine," he said when she picked up. "How… very like you."

"Lies. All lies," she replied, trying to affect a bored tone but failing miserably.

"Who's telling lies?" Mycroft asked.

"John and Sherlock. It's all lies. I'm so well behaved you wouldn't recognize me."

"That's highly unlikely," he laughed. "What are your plans tomorrow, sister?"

"Not sure yet. What are yours? I'll make sure I'm where you aren't, how's that sound?"

"That wasn't what I had in mind. You're overdue for a spanking Rosenwyn," Mycroft said sternly. The other end of the line went silent, but he was certain she hadn't hung up. "I'll be dropping by Baker Street about five. It would be much better for you if you could manage to be there when I arrive."

Rose let out a sigh. "I suppose," she answered quietly.

"Excellent. Do take care of yourself in the meantime, alright?"

There was another brief pause before she responded by saying, "Love you too, My."

She couldn't see it, but her words made him smile.

XYZ

Mycroft arrived at 221B at 5:30 the next day and stopped in the doorway for a moment. Rose was lying on her back on the couch in pajamas and a dressing gown, her eyes closed and a look of pure relaxation on her face as her bare feet moving to the beat of whatever song was currently on her ipod. Sometimes it simply floored him that while Rose had clearly grown so much since she'd disappeared, she was still very much the same little girl he'd raised.

"She has amazing musicality," Mycroft said, by way of announcing his presence to Sherlock and John. "I really should have insisted she learn to play piano or violin. Mother insisted she dance."

"Mother was right," Sherlock replied. He watched with bemusement as Mycroft crossed the room and took one of Rose's tiny feet and ran a finger lightly over the bottom of it.

Rose jumped so hard she nearly fell off the couch. Looking completely bewildered, she pulled her ear buds out. "Are you quite well Mycroft?"

"Whatever makes you ask?"

"You tickled my foot. You're being _weird_."

"Am I?"

"It's been a good decade since you did that last."

Mycroft shrugged. "I'm imparting a valuable life lesson Rose- wear socks."

"Socks are boring. And if that's today's lesson, you can go on your way. I hate that smug look by the way. Put it away, will you?"

He didn't and instead sat at the end of the couch, letting her drape her legs across his lap.

"Well…" John began. "I think I'll step out for a bit while you three, uh…"

"While Rose has her spanking, you mean?" Sherlock asked. While his flat mate was no longer shy about giving Rose some discipline when she needed it, he still seemed a bit uncomfortable with the word 'spanking.' Naturally, Sherlock exploited this at every possible opportunity.

"Actually, I'd prefer you didn't John," Mycroft decided. "She may have need of your services at some point this evening."

"I'm going to need medical attention when you lot are through?" Rose yelled. "What the _hell_ are going to do to me?!"

"Don't be ridiculous Rose. Or at least anymore ridiculous than is absolutely necessary," Mycroft chided. "You had surgery one week ago today. I would prefer John be here in case your chest starts bothering you. I'm sure you'd rather not be hauled to hospital unnecessarily."

She immediately looked relieved. "True enough. You scared me for a minute there, My! Very unkind you know. I'm already nervous enough as it is."

"You should be."

"You're a rubbish big brother," she decided. "I think John is really my only ally here." Rose gave the doctor a beseeching look.

"Oh no miss, don't look to me for any outs on this. I am one hundred percent behind your brothers. You were a completely reckless thing and it nearly killed you," John scolded. "We're here because we care about you."

"What the hell is this? Pick on Rose day?!" she exclaimed.

Sherlock chuckled. "Don't be silly. It's _always _pick on Rose day."

"Ladies do not curse, Rosenwyn. If should have occurred even to _you _that if you're not too old to be spanked, you're certainly not too old to have your mouth washed out," Mycroft said firmly.

Both of the younger Holmes siblings rolled their eyes in response to that. "I've been telling you for years, Mycroft, that you need to pick your battles. You're boring," Sherlock decided.

"And redundant," Rose added smugly.

"I don't remember asking either of you for your opinions!"

Rose turned a pleading look at Sherlock. "Can it be pick on Mycroft day, please? That would be so much more fun!"

"No. In fact, I think you should go to my room. We'll be in shortly," Sherlock directed. If they kept up the banter any longer it would only make it harder to deal with her in the long run.

"We? As in the both of you?" That, Rose thought, was very unexpected.

"We're both your brothers the last time I checked," Mycroft pointed out.

"Your _angry _brothers at that," Sherlock added. "Go Rosenwyn."

Rose took a deep breath and quickly assessed Sherlock's mood. Definitely wouldn't be open to any further pleading, wouldn't countenance whining, and was likely to start counting if she didn't move. That was a part she'd much rather skip if she had the choice!

Without a word Rose got up, heading for Sherlock's bedroom, when she felt a hand on her arm. Turning around, she was face to face with John.

Smiling kindly, John reached up and cupped her cheek in his hand, rubbing it lightly with his thumb. "Don't give them a hard time. They love you like mad, you know." Letting go of her cheek, he pulled her into a tight hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"I know they do," Rose whispered. "And I know you do, too."

John chuckled and held her a little tighter. "Yeah, I do," he agreed before stepping back.

Without another word Rose turned and opened the door of Sherlock's room, then disappeared inside.

XYZ

NOTE: I'll be posting a long one-shot fic to "Raising a Wildflower" within the next day or so. Stay tuned!


	19. A Difficult Lesson

NOTE: My apologies for taking so long to update. Real life rather exploded this past week! So now I offer you a longer chapter. Enjoy!

By the time Sherlock entered the bedroom, with Mycroft close behind him carrying a kitchen chair, Rose was a bundle of nerves. Uncertain what fate awaited her, other than the obvious sore bottom, she sat leaning against the headboard, knees pulled up to her chest, while biting her lower lip.

"Stop that with your lip," Mycroft commented. "I've been telling you for years not to do that."

"Nervous," she murmured.

"You should be."

Rose sighed heavily. "Mycroft, I'm really serious. I'm horribly nervous. It's been a really long time since you've _both_ been this unhappy with me."

"I can tell," Sherlock admitted, coming to sit beside her on the bed. "We don't plan on injuring you."

She scooted closer, leaning against his side. She felt a bit better once Sherlock had his arm around her. "I know that. Of course I know that," Rose assured him.

"Good," Sherlock murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

"Maybe you two could just pronounce my sentence and get on with it," Rose requested rather meekly before helping herself to Sherlock's lap. She pressed her face against his shoulder as he hugged her tightly.

The two brothers shared a concerned look over her head. This was very unlike their Rose.

Mycroft joined his siblings on the bed and reached out to rub Rose's back. "You're feeling quite guilty, aren't you?" he inquired with a surprising amount of gentleness. "And anxious because you've had to wait so long."

Rose nodded just slightly. "Yes. And no. But yes," she responded, her words a bit muffled by Sherlock's shirt.

"I think that's going to require a bit of explanation darling," Sherlock said softly.

Mycroft's eyebrow rose at Sherlock's term of endearment but he otherwise refrained from commenting on it.

"I'm not ok," Rose whispered.

Sherlock paused for a moment. "Considering the fact that you're still here, rather than having gone out the window, which clearly indicates that on some level- likely subconsciously of course- you actually _are _alright with it," he pointed out.

Mycroft attempted to cover up a snort with a cough and failed. "Generally, brother, she's smart enough not to do the same thing twice. Which is more than can be said for _you_."

"Why are you two purposely being stupid?" Rose asked, sounding genuinely distressed.

Sherlock held her tighter and rested his chin on top of her head, murmuring an apology meant for her ears only.

"I do feel guilty. Really horribly guilty. I worried you all so much; John took a man's life to save mine. I almost died; I almost got myself killed because I'm so ridiculously stupid and stubborn. Yes, I'm anxious, because this is never fun, and I'm certain you two have thought up something really awful. I just… This isn't going to make it all better. Nothing is going to make it all better, and I really, really don't like that at all," Rose tried to explain.

"I lied to all of you; I kept secrets I should never have kept. Yeah, alright, so I've been spanked loads of times, but this time it's different. Because it won't make all that go away. I won't be any more trustworthy afterwards, nor will it be forgive and forget this time, because no one will ever forget this and it will take me ages to earn forgiveness from you both."

Mycroft cleared his throat loudly, causing Rose to lift her head from Sherlock's shoulder just enough to peek over at him. "Look at me Rosenwyn," he said sternly. "Lift your head up and look at me." When she did so, Mycroft moved closer and reached out to take her chin, holding it gently but firmly.

"Now you listen to me and listen well. You're quite confused and I'm going to enlighten you. The hierarchy of this family has not changed and will not change. I am the head of this family-"

Sherlock snorted but otherwise remained silent.

"I am the head of this family," Mycroft continued. "Additionally, I raised you, so I make the rules; that's how it works. I do not appreciate your attempts to usurp my authority here, young lady. I have not said a single word about losing trust in you for the remainder of your life, nor have I suggested you will not be forgiven. As always, the slate will be wiped clean and our trust in you will be restored in short order, I'm certain of it. But I'll not have you being harder on yourself than I am. That is _completely _unacceptable and I will _not _have it. Are we quite clear?"

Rose gulped audibly before responding with a whispered, "Yes, sir," that caused Mycroft's eyebrows to shoot upwards as he released her chin.

"And I feel precisely the same way Rose," Sherlock added. "Minus that whole head of the family rubbish. Now, if that is all sorted out, I suggest we move on to the discussion phase of this little family meeting. Start us out, oh-head-of-the-family," he directed his brother.

"I think we can dispense with the lecture portion. I'm satisfied that you understand why you're being punished. This is going to be a spanking in two parts," Mycroft informed her. "You will go over my knee for a hand spanking and Sherlock will handle the second part."

"I will be using a strap, after Mycroft is done with you," Sherlock told her. "The amount of danger you put yourself in demands more than the average spanking. I want to make a very serious point that this had better not _ever _happen again."

She made a whining noise that caused her brothers to chuckle. "I don't like the idea of that. Do I get a vote? I think something else would work just fine. Like… a really long time out," Rose offered. "Really, that would be plenty."

"Well, we can add that as well if you'd like," Mycroft offered in a dangerous tone.

"Never mind," Rose grumbled. "Let's get this done before I really _do _start thinking about going out the window."

"Off to Mycroft you go then," Sherlock stated, helping her up from his lap. "Would you… uh… Do you want me to stay?"

"Sherlock, you're such an idiot. No I do not want an audience, thank you very much!" she stated firmly.

Sherlock scowled at her. "I was _trying _to be nice."

"Well you suck at it, so I suggest you stop trying." Despite Rose's biting words, a smile was tugging at the corners of her mouth.

"I will leave you both to it then," he agreed. After kissing the top of her head, Sherlock exited his bedroom.

Rose promptly flopped back on the bed. "This… is awkward."

"Is it really? I cannot imagine that to be true Rose. You've certainly been over my knee enough times that it should be very familiar to you," Mycroft pointed out. While she glared at him, he stood and took off his suit jacket, placing it on the bed before unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt.

"No. No no no. No rolling up your sleeves! That always means you're going to be really serious about it! Stop doing that!" Rose demanded.

Her demand was ignored completely and Mycroft sat down on the chair he'd brought in with him. "I do not want to cause undue stress to your injuries, so come lean over and see if this will cause any strain," he instructed. "And you can stop all the whining and pleading now, before you even get started. I'm not going to listen to any of it, and you know that. It never works with me."

Damn if he wasn't right and Rose knew it too. Mycroft never relented, no matter what she did to try and convince him. She blamed Sherlock for that; their eldest brother had had far too much practice on Sherlock before Rose had come along, and Mycroft was pretty much immune to any sort of wheedling she might try. But, she always tried just the same.

Rose got up with a sigh and went to Mycroft's side, bending carefully over his knee. "I think it'll be alright actually," she admitted. "I don't feel like anything is hurting or has too much pressure on it."

"Excellent. If that changes, you need to let me know. And don't say "Mycroft, it hurts!" because you're being spanked so of course that hurts. Say something different so I know you aren't just whining about your bottom," Mycroft instructed. He then helped her up from his lap, standing her at his side. "Pajama bottoms down," he instructed.

"Oh Mycroft, come on! Please let me keep them on, they're sort of thin," Rose pleaded.

Rather than giving her a verbal response, Mycroft simply tugged her pajama bottoms down himself, then tugged her back over his lap. While she sputtered indignantly, he pulled her panties down to her knees. "This will be much easier if you cooperate," he warned. "Are you going to keep your hands in front of you, or would you like me to hold them?"

Rose took a few seconds to think that over before putting her right hand back. "Better hold this one," she said softly.

Mycroft took her hand in his and squeezed it gently before holding it at the small of her back. He then raised his right hand and brought it down hard on her right cheek, causing Rose to let out a little gasp. His hand then fell in the identical spot on her left cheek. Mycroft picked up the pace, landing crisp swats all over her bottom, quickly raising heat and sting.

For a little bit, Rose was quiet and still, other than some movement in response to swats to her sit spots. That's when she opened up and began to protest. "Ow! My, not there!" she exclaimed, beginning to squirm. "Owww! That's enough!"

"If you're attempting to order me around, then it's not nearly enough," Mycroft pointed out in a stern tone. His hand went back and forth, up and down her cheeks, putting quite a bit of strength behind the smacks.

"No! Oww! Ow! Please!" she pleaded, starting to cry. "I'm sorry!"

And just like that, he stopped. Mycroft did not let her up, however, but rested his hand on her hot cheeks instead. "What are you being spanked for, Rosenwyn? Why are we doing this?" he inquired.

"Because I almost died," Rose whimpered as tears trailed down her face.

"No," Mycroft responded, landing an almighty smack across the center of her bottom. "Try again."

"I don't want to do this, I… Ow!" Rose squirmed and kicked as he smacked her again.

"Keep those feet down," he said sternly, giving each of her thighs a good smack. "You know better. Now answer the question or I'll tell you and that won't be pleasant."

"None of its pleasant," she whined through her tears.

Sighing heavily, Mycroft gave up trying to get her to cooperate and resumed spanking, emphasizing particular words with hearty swats to her sit spots that made her squirm over his lap. "You do _not _keep _secrets_. You _do not lie_. You do _not _put yourself _in danger._ That is why you're being spanked Rosenwyn. No _secrets_, no _lies_, no _danger_. _Am I making myself clear_?"

Rather than answer him, Rose started to sob. They were heavy sobs, indicating hurt that came from more than just her spanking. Mycroft closed his eyes for several seconds, trying to tune out her tears in order to finish. Taking a deep breath, he landed a volley of spanks on her sit spots and lower cheeks, much harder and faster than before. When her sobbing and weeping came to a crescendo, Mycroft stopped swatting her and carefully righted her clothing.

For a long moment, Mycroft didn't say anything, opting instead to rub her back soothingly. When her tears decreased a bit in volume, he carefully helped her up from his lap.

Rose immediately turned her back to him and wrapped her arms around herself in a bid for comfort.

Watching her turn away from him was painful. Why had he ever thought she was too old to be held after punishment, Mycroft wondered. He thought of all the times in the few years before her disappearance that he had spanked her and not followed it with some comforting, in a misguided attempt to acknowledge she was no longer a baby. A wave of guilt overwhelmed him. God, what _had _he been thinking? He'd been such an idiot.

He moved closer and wrapped his arms around her. "I have it on good authority you still like to be cuddled afterwards. That you're not too old for it after all," Mycroft said softly. "Is that true?"

She nodded and turned around to face him, letting him pull her close and hug her tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "Not for spanking you, of course, that was well deserved. But for the times I didn't do this afterwards. Forgive me?"

Her tears were momentarily silenced as she looked up at Mycroft and saw that he was in earnest. "Yeah, but only if you cuddle me up good right now," Rose pleaded before burying her face against his chest.

Mycroft hugged her even tighter, then let go just enough to nudge her in the direction of the bed. He sat on it and settled her on his lap, taking care not to put too much pressure on her freshly spanked bottom. "You cannot do this again," he murmured, rubbing her back gently. "Never again. You can't ever put yourself in such a dangerous situation. I thought I'd been frightened while you were gallivanting around Europe and who knows where, but that was nothing compared to seeing you so… injured. Promise me Rose, please promise me you'll come to me next time. Or if not me, someone else that you trust."

"I promise," Rose whispered. She helped herself to his handkerchief and tried valiantly to dry her face. "My, I don't… I don't want the strap. Please, My."

"That's not up for negotiation," he said firmly. "You deserve it and you know that. I know you do. You'll survive and Sherlock will cuddle you as well and probably fuss over you after too."

"But it's going to hurt a lot." Her voice took on a little hint of a whine as she said it.

"That is rather the point, Rosenwyn," Mycroft stated, though not unkindly. "That's part of the lesson. It's not as though you'll be injured. I'm certain you'd rather have the strap than the cane, correct? Sherlock was quite stroppy about it when I suggested it, so you might want to tell him thank you."

"You are definitely the mean brother," she grumbled, but didn't actually mean it.

Mycroft kissed the top of her head. "I'm more than happy to be the 'mean brother' if that's what keeps you safe. Your safety is paramount. Whether you like me or not, that's secondary. I'd much rather have you alive but hate me than not have you alive at all. Though, if I had a choice, I'd prefer you didn't hate me."

"Of course I don't hate you," Rose assured him, sighing a bit. "Not that I haven't tried to sometimes, but it never worked."

A knock on the door sounded and neither of them was surprised when Sherlock stuck his head in the room. "Things quieted down so I thought I'd come check on Rose."

"Still alive, Mycroft is still mean," Rose answered him, giving her brother a little smile. "And now you're here for your turn, aren't you?'

"Yes," Sherlock answered, seeing no reason to try and put it more delicately. Delicate wasn't his style, after all.

Rose extricated herself from Mycroft's arms, wincing when her bottom touched the bed. She hurriedly stood up and rubbed her sore cheeks. "Before you ask, My, I still don't want an audience. Consider yourself dismissed," Rose said, trying to be funny. She even managed a little smile.

"I'll be in the sitting room if you change your mind," Mycroft told her before making his exit.

Sherlock and Rose stood there for a moment, looking at each other.

"This is really awkward. I said the same thing to My, but this is seriously awkward, because you're never this hard on me," Rose decided.

"You've never needed me to be before this," Sherlock countered. "You look like a wounded puppy, Rose. Stop looking at me like that. Your bid for sympathy isn't going to be successful, miss." To ease the sting from his words, he closed the distance between them and hugged her tightly. "You know I am not going to injure you, correct?"

"Oh Sherlock, of course I know that," Rose hurried to assure him. "I just don't have to like it, that's all."

"It would lose its effectiveness if you liked it," Sherlock pointed out with a chuckle. "Let's get this done, shall we?" When she nodded, he let her go and went over to the bed, piling some pillows in the middle of the bed. "Alright, come over here. Pajama bottoms and pants down and lie over the pillows. How are you faring? Injuries bothering you at all?"

"No, I'm doing fine in that respect. I'll let you know if that changes," she promised as she got up on the bed. Taking a deep breath, as if trying to summon the last of her courage, Rose pushed her pajama bottoms and panties down and positioned herself over the pillows. "For the record, I hate this. I don't like this."

"What specifically?"

"This pillow thing. I don't like it," she huffed.

"What would you prefer? And don't say no spanking because I really don't want to hear that presently," Sherlock warned. He unbuttoned his cuffs and began rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.

She frowned when he began rolling up his shirt sleeves, then shrugged and let out a sigh. "I don't know, I guess."

Sherlock's eyes narrowed as he thought about her words. "You prefer being over my knee, don't you?"

Blushing a bit, Rose nodded.

"Because it's comforting, having someone holding you, in effect, while you're being spanked," he continued.

Another nod and more blushing.

"Despite the fact that it's the more childish position for punishment."

"You're not making me feel better right now," Rose responded, her eyes downcast.

"That's very interesting."

"Shut up."

"Not the best time to be cheeky," Sherlock pointed out. "But I do find this very interesting and it's something I'll keep in mind."

Another huff. "Hate you," she decided, pouting now.

"Back to business. It's very important that you stay in position Rose. Keep your hands away and stay over the pillow. I don't want the strap to get you somewhere it shouldn't," Sherlock explained. "If you can't manage that, tell me, and I'll try to help you. It'll be a dozen. Are you ready?"

Rose made certain her hands were in front of her and was already balling them into fists. "That's a completely idiotic question Sherlock. Just get on with it before I can't be brave about it any longer."

Sherlock nodded his agreement and moved beside the bed. Part of him wanted to skip this entirely. Mycroft had been very thorough, as usual, and despite having had a bit of a break between then and now her bottom was practically glowing still. Another part of him knew this was necessary, and that part of him recalled the pile of letters he'd gone through at the hospital. Keeping secrets had nearly gotten her killed. Sherlock closed his eyes, picturing her on the pavement, covered in blood.

That was all the motivation he needed to do this. Sherlock raised the strap and brought it down sharply across the middle of her cheeks. He flinched at the sound of it and his heart contracted when Rose cried out in response. Raising the strap again, he brought it down across the crest of her cheeks and landed another right below that.

The second stroke took Rose's breath away and she gasped for air when the third landed before letting out a wail. Her feet drummed up and down on the bed and she managed to stay over the pillows, despite the overwhelming urge to simply roll away.

"You're being so brave Rose, so very brave," Sherlock praised. He could sense she needed it, though he wasn't entirely certain she'd heard him as she began crying in earnest once more. He raised the strap for the fourth time, bringing it down just as sharply, cringing as it overlapped the first stroke. The fifth landed a little lower, again overlapping. Sherlock hated having to do that, but Rose was rather small.

"No! No! No! Owwww! Sherlock!" Rose pleaded. "No more!"

Sherlock forced himself to ignore her tears, certain this was one of the hardest things he'd ever done. God he hoped the lesson stuck! The thick leather strap fell twice more. "Almost there Rosie, almost there," he assured her.

Rose promptly buried her face in the duvet as she continued to sob and drum her feet. The duvet couldn't cover her wail when the next strokes, eight and nine, landed across her sit spots.

Ten landed across the top of her thighs and Sherlock cringed at the howl she let out. Uncertain whether it was for him, for her, or the both of them, he quickly delivered the last two smacks across the center of her cheeks before tossing the strap on the floor. Rose's sobs were heart wrenching and he immediately moved the pillows from underneath her and sat down at her side.

"Can you breathe, with your face in there like that?" Sherlock asked, rubbing her back. "I'm not convinced you can." No change in her tears, so clearly attempts at levity were not yet appropriate. Time for another tactic.

"Rosie, it's alright. It's all done now and over. No more spanking, hopefully for a very long time. Take some deep breaths for me, will you? That's what John always says. Not certain if it works, but let's try it just the same." Again no luck.

"Let me cuddle you, Rose," Sherlock said, using a bit of a firmer tone. "Come on, let me cuddle you and make it better. You were a very brave girl, I'm so proud of you."

Rather than moving so he could comfort her, Rose turned her head towards him. "It hurrrrrrrrrts," she sobbed. "So bad!"

"Should I rub it a bit? Would that help? You really need to stop crying if you can," Sherlock said gently. He leaned over to kiss her head before gently rubbing her dark red cheeks. The yelp she let out told him that wasn't going to work either.

With the utmost care, Sherlock righted her clothing, cringing as she let out another yelp. "What I wouldn't give for a rocking chair right now," he murmured as he picked Rose up. He sat down, placing her carefully in his lap and began rocking back and forth slowly. "Shh, it's all done now," he soothed. "All done. You were such a brave girl. I'm so proud of you darling, I really am. That was hard, I know it was. You're my brave, good girl, Rosie."

It took several minutes for her to calm down, but Sherlock kept up his soothing ministrations until her tears died down to sniffles. "I love you, you know," he whispered in her ear.

"I know," Rose whispered back. "I love you too. It really, really hurts though Sherlock."

He nodded, giving her a sympathetic look. "I know. I've had that before, it's quite mean. I'll tell you a secret- you took that so much better than I did. Ask Mycroft, he'll tell you."

That got him a bit of a smile, and Sherlock felt incredibly relieved to see it. "Will you live to misbehave another day?"

"Probably," she said, snuggling close.

"You look exhausted," Sherlock told her. "And quite awful in general."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Thank you, brother dear. You always know the right thing to say; must be a gift."

A knock sounded at the door and the siblings looked over, completely unsurprised to see Mycroft enter the room. "The caterwauling stopped so I thought I'd check in," he explained.

Rose and Sherlock shared a look before simultaneously tossing pillows in his direction.

"Was I really caterwauling?" she asked, looking up at Sherlock.

"Not really. Although you might very well have been; you kept your face in the duvet most of the time, so it's hard to know," Sherlock admitted. "Is there a reason you're here Mycroft?"

The eldest Holmes scowled at his younger brother. "I was worried about Rose."

"There's too much love going on right now," Rose commented. "It's a bit frightening. We don't do this. We _never _do this. Very strange, but a bit good too."

"So the Holmes family as per usual then?" Mycroft inquired. "How are you faring?"

She nodded. "I lived, even enough to misbehave another day," she assured her older brother. "Your strap, on the other hand, is unlikely to survive the day."

An eyebrow quirked. "It's not the only one in the world. It's replaceable. You, however, aren't. Do keep that in mind, won't you, sister mine?"

Rose scrunched up her nose in a look of mild disgust. "Again, too much love going on. I'm not certain I can handle it. Stop being odd, both of you."

"So you're done with your cuddle then?" Sherlock asked.

"Well, let's not be drastic about it," she amended, blushing.

Mycroft joined them on the bed and reached over to take Rose's chin in his hand once more. "Learnt your lesson, Rosenwyn?"

"Yes."

"You're entirely certain? Nothing needs further clarification? You're absolutely clear on where we stand when it comes to keeping secrets and being untruthful?" Mycroft checked.

"I mean it My. I promise it's all very clear," she mumbled, blushing again.

He released her chin and sighed. "I was so hoping you would "Yes, sir" me again. That was quite… refreshing."

Sherlock snorted and tickled her side just a bit. "That was really quite unexpected. I almost started laughing, did you realize? The look of shock on Mycroft's face was rather amusing as well."

Rose scowled up at him. "No, I didn't and it wasn't a laughing matter. I hate you now. _Both_ of you. Rest assured, My, it's not likely to happen again. I suggest you savor that memory while your brain still retains new ones."

"Now this _does _feel more like us, doesn't it?" Mycroft mused.

"We're awful to each other, but we mean it in a loving sort of way. We don't indulge in the lovey business _normal _people do. At least not that we admit," she giggled.

"Mycroft was hilarious when you were a little thing. Little as in age, considering you're still on the little end of things in terms of your height," Sherlock clarified. "He always smiled when he held you, and he'd rock you, and take you in his study to play.

"There was a point where I worried if you'd even know your name because he was always calling you 'little lady' and 'Baby.' It was really downright alarming. Though you were rather adorable, especially when you scowled and stamped your foot at him. You tried very hard to act stern as a way to overcome your itty bitty size."

"Still hate you, but look at his face," Rose laughed, indicating Mycroft. "It's brilliant, keep going! I love it when he looks so uncomfortable."

"You're both monstrous things," the eldest Holmes grumbled. "I think I'll take my leave now. Provided you have no objection?" he asked Rose.

"I'll text if I need you, promise. Or possibly to confirm silly stories Sherlock tells me about you when I was too little to remember all the warm fuzzy moments."

Mycroft rolled his eyes. "Lovely. You're a horrid boy Sherlock; always have been." He pressed a kiss to Rose's forehead and then stood up from the bed. "Be a good girl now, will you? Follow doctor's orders and stop trying to prove you're indestructible?"

"Scolding time is over now. It's cuddle time," Rose informed him with a pout.

"Yes Mycroft, she's right. Cuddle time." The uncomfortable look that crossed their older brother's face at the expression sent them both into peals of laughter as Mycroft exited the room.

* * *

John was in the kitchen when the siblings emerged from Sherlock's room. "Coffee's up, love! Things quieted down and I thought you might need it," he called out.

"Oh my god yes. Yes, yes, yes. Is there a way to imbibe coffee intravenously?" Rose asked as she entered the kitchen.

"I'm not answering that question," John decided.

Rose gave him a smile. "Because it's ridiculous?"

"No; because I know you're serious!"

She laughed and fixed her coffee.

"How are you getting on, love? Were they awful?" John asked, looking her up and down. "Chest or anything else hurt?"

"Well, part of me obviously hurts, but I don't think that's what you're asking," Rose grumbled. "And in that case, the answer is no. I'm just not going to sit for the rest of my life. I'm horribly picked on."

"No, you're horribly behaved," John corrected with a smile as he pulled her into a hug. "Let me know if you need some arnica cream, alright? Aside from that, did you manage alright?"

Rose relaxed into his hug. "This is lovely, but I can't drink my coffee like this, and right now I want my coffee."

He chuckled and let her go after kissing the top of her head. John watched as she took her coffee into the sitting room and stood in the middle of the room. "That bad?"

"Oh yes, that bad. Trying to decide if I can properly drink my coffee while lying on my stomach on the couch. Might work, or I might burn myself," Rose explained.

"Is she going to bruise Sherlock?" John asked, giving his friend a _look_.

"Possibly. Didn't see any in the immediate aftermath," Sherlock said, commandeering John's laptop. He nearly dropped it when Rose made an attempt to position herself in John's comfy chair.

Rose tried to ease herself gently into the chair. It was so soft and comfortable; surely she could find a somewhat reasonable position in it and drink her coffee. That, unfortunately, turned out not to be the case. As she finally eased into the position, the contact with her bum caused her to howl and immediately stand up, spilling coffee everywhere. "Oh no! My coffee!" she whined, burst into tears. Rose put the cup down on the coffee table and reached back to rub her sore bottom.

Without a word John went up to his room and came back with the arnica cream. "On the couch, love. On your tummy, please." He shot Sherlock a dirty look.

"Don't give me that look John. Don't start. It was very well deserved and I was very careful," Sherlock replied, sounding a teensy bit defensive. "It's not much of a punishment if it doesn't hurt."

Rose moved over to the couch and lay on her stomach, trying to dry her face with her hands.

John sat down on the floor beside her and chuckled. "I can't put the cream on your bottom through your clothing," he pointed out. "Should I do it? I'll be gentle."

"Wait, what?" she asked. "No! We can't do this out here."

"Why ever not?" he asked, trying not to laugh too hard. "You look so outraged. You realize that it's just us here, Sherlock and me, and we've both seen your bare behind before."

"But there's something indecent about being half naked in a sitting room," Rose huffed.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Now look at that. You've got some common sense and understanding of propriety. What happened with him?" John asked indicating Sherlock. "He walks around in that damn sheet of his without his pants all the time."

This time Rose giggled. "I'm aware of that. Modesty is an emotion, John. _Sentiment_. Which Sherlock doesn't recognize, so he has no problem with it."

"Shut _up _Rose," Sherlock grumbled.

"And while he might be fine with it, not everyone is. I'm used to it; he did that at home all the time. Mostly to annoy Mycroft," Rose continued. "When Louise showed up the other day for a chat, she was horribly embarrassed to see him prancing around in that sheet. I told her she best text next time she wants over."

"Rosenwyn Aramantha Holmes I _do not _prance! In sheets or otherwise!" Sherlock stated loudly.

"Sometimes you do in that poncy coat of yours," John told him, laughing loudly. When he calmed down he turned his attention back to Rose. "We could borrow Sherlock's room, if you're embarrassed."

She shook her head. "I suppose it doesn't matter much. Be so, so gentle, will you? It's terribly sore."

"Of course love." John kissed the top of her head before baring her bum with utmost care.

"You spoil her terribly John," Sherlock grumbled, not meaning a word of it.

John, completely ignoring him, let out a low whistle at the state of her bottom. "They really did do a number on you, didn't they?" he murmured. "I don't see any bruising, but I'll put the cream on. It'll make it feel better all around. Are you ready? I'll be as gentle as I can."

When she nodded, he carefully applied the arnica cream to her backside. "There we are," John said when he finished. He helped her ease her clothing up and then went to wash his hands and put the cream away.

By the time he returned, Rose was fast asleep on the couch. He leaned over to kiss her head and could practically feel Sherlock's eye rolling.

"You're a push over John."

"Sherlock Holmes, don't you even try and tell me that you're any less wrapped around her finger than I am!"


	20. Going Forward One Step At a Time

"Good morning, love," John greeted Rose. "Ready for a big day? Back to work and dance?"

Rose scowled and went right for the coffee maker.

"Not ready to talk yet. Got it," he chuckled.

Once she'd drunk half the coffee in the mug, Rose finally spoke. "Thank you, for breakfast. It's yummy. Omelets are my favorite. And for not allowing my non-morning person self to offend you."

John flashed her a smile. "Not a problem," he assured her. "I still like you, even when you refuse to talk to me right away in the morning. I know it's in the best interests of my own personal safety." She'd told him that, several times in the past, and he only half heartedly believed she could be that awful.

"Oh, it is," Rose assured him. "Trust me. Or ask Sherlock if you don't believe me. I'm a horrible morning person."

John joined her at the kitchen table with his own breakfast and a cup of coffee. "So, are you ready? Excited?"

She sighed and shook her head.

"No? You've got to be kidding. I thought for sure you'd be ready to go. You haven't left the flat in two weeks! And you've been itching to dance," he pointed out.

"I know. I admit I'm worried about the competition. It's just two weeks from today. Speaking of dance, will you be around tonight?"

"Yeah, why?"

"My feet are going to be awful again when I get home. The two week break won't have done them any good," Rose pointed out. "I'd like my doctor who fusses in a nice way over me to make them feel better."

John chuckled. "Of course. Though some socks while you practice would help."

"Completely unattractive," Rose said. "And strange." She fell silent, looking pensive as she continued to eat her omelet.

"What's wrong love?"

"I'm scared," Rose whispered. "To leave the building and interact with people. And just in general of being out there, all vulnerable."

He took her hands and gently tugged her out of her chair and pulled her onto his lap. "You can't hide forever," John said gently, wrapping his arms around her. "Life happens outside, you know? Just because one thing went wrong, terribly wrong in fact, doesn't mean only bad things will happen to you."

"But what if it does? I don't want to be a victim again," Rose whispered. "What if I leave and something bad happens to me?"

"What if you leave and nothing happens at all except an ordinary day?" John asked. "Do you really want to make yourself a prisoner here forever?"

She shook her head. "No, not really. I suppose if I do that, on some level then, he wins."

"That's very true. And I think you're over looking one very, very important thing to remember about that great wide world out there," John replied.

Rose frowned a bit in thought. "What's that?"

"Mycroft. Do you honestly think after this that he, or one of his minions, won't be watching your every move on CCTV? I wouldn't be at all surprised if he had you discreetly followed, too," he admitted.

"That… is somehow both disturbing and reassuring at the same time," she said quietly. "I like the thought that he won't let me be hurt again. But I'd also really like a bit of privacy as well. I mean, good god, what if I'm on a date and kiss said date and he sees it? That's all kinds of vulgar, don't you think?"

John threw his head back and laughed. "You do make an interesting point. I don't think Mycroft will listen to you, though, if you mount a protest. He's awfully protective of you. It's sweet, yet very, very odd."

She giggled. "I know, right? He makes people quake in their boots every single day and runs the greater part of the free world. No one would ever expect it! He's changed, you know."

"Has he?"

"Yes. He's changed from how he was when I went off, and even from how he was when I first came back," Rose mused. "There was a time before I left when I wasn't certain if he really cared beyond whether or not what I was doing would reflect badly on him. I wasn't angelic by any means, but I wasn't completely awful either."

"I'm sure you weren't any worse than any other teenager that's ever existed," John said. "It's very clear you love them both and that they love you."

Rose smiled. "I do. Very much. Gotten rather attached to you, too, you know."

"Same here," John assured her. "Even when you refuse to speak to me before you have your morning coffee."

"Well if you weren't such a blasted sunshiny and happy morning person," she grumbled, but her eyes twinkled. "Thanks for the pep talk John. And for everything you do, truly." Rose kissed his cheek before getting up, smiling as he blushed a bit.

"I've got to get ready. Wouldn't do to be late my first day back," she told him. "I'll pop in and say goodbye before I take off."

"I'll walk to you to the station," John offered. "Ready when you are. Not babying you, mind. Just being a gentleman."

Rose gave him a bright smile. "I'd like that." After taking one last swig of her coffee, she hurried back to her own flat to get ready.

* * *

There it was; the coffee shop. That was where it had all began. She'd met Mark, she'd been friendly, and he'd acted like such a gentleman. And then, he'd stalked her and tried to kill her. She wanted to go inside, so very badly. To be brave and hold her head high, get her drink and one for Lestrade and act as if everything was alright.

"I thought I'd find you here."

Rose jumped and whirled around, the rising panic in her stomach disappearing as soon as she saw Lestrade. "Greg, don't scare me like that!" she scolded. "I was really frightened for a minute."

"Sorry," he replied, looking a bit sheepish. "I thought you might like some company this morning while you get coffee. I was worried."

"I'd love some company. I'm not feeling very brave right now," Rose admitted quietly.

"That's to be expected, and there's nothing wrong with that. We've got counselors, if you're interested," Lestrade told her. "But that's a conversation for another time, if you want to have it. For now, let's go in, yeah?" He offered her his arm.

Rose linked her arm through his and they started off across the street to the coffee shop. "So, was this your idea or John's? Or did you two conspire together?"

"I had thought about it, but didn't want you to think I was trying to be your minder. But John did text and that settled the issue for me," Lestrade admitted.

"There are moments where he's worse than my brothers, truly," Rose laughed. "And I'm always torn between wanting to tell him off and just feeling pleased about it."

Lestrade held the door open for her and Rose took a deep breath before walking inside. It all looked the same, so very, very normal, and that really helped her feel better. It was as if nothing had ever happened.

"Rose! I'm so glad you're out and about!" Louise hurried away from the counter and hugged her friend tightly.

Rose returned the hug, pasting a smile on her face. "It feels weird," she whispered. "But I'm glad I came in, even if I couldn't quite manage it on my own."

"You coming back to dance tonight, too? Everyone will be so thrilled to see you. They hound me for updates constantly," Louise admitted.

"Yeah, I'll be back, to teach and practice myself. Alfred and I have loads of work to do. But before that, Greg and I need our coffee so we can get back to work, though I'd much rather stay and chat all day." Rose looked over at Lestrade and shrugged her shoulders, saying, "Sorry."

Lestrade waved her off. "Her drinks are on me today, Louise. Don't take any of her money."

"You're ridiculous, Greg. Don't listen to him," Rose laughed.

"Hush," Louise told her. "I'll have both of your drinks ready in a moment. Up to the register please, Detective Inspector."

* * *

With drinks in hand, Rose and Lestrade took the lift up to his division at NSY. "Don't let me overwork you today. If you need to leave early, or take a rest, you will do so. Understand?"

"Such bossy men in my life," Rose grumbled. "But yes, I understand. And I thank you. I'm fine though. John wouldn't have let me leave if I wasn't."

"Good girl," Lestrade said, giving her a wink.

They exited the lift and were greeted by a round of applause from the officers that took Rose by surprise. She shrank back a little, her eyes going wide. "Why are they so excited? We didn't bring them coffee. I don't understand."

"They're happy you're here. Alive and well," he told her. "Alright, alright! Enough of that, back to work!" Lestrade called out. "You're embarrassing her. Settle!"

Rose smiled and waved awkwardly back at everyone.

"In my office miss," Lestrade said with a smile. "Loads of work for you to do. It's been dreadful without your help, seriously. I've only just barely managed."

She rolled her eyes. "Liar. Lead the way, boss."

Lestrade gave her a curious look. "You've never called me boss before."

"Well, it seemed fitting just then," Rose laughed. "Don't get all excited about it, especially since I don't actually work for you."

"You could, you know. We've talked about it before."

"Don't let Mycroft know you've made that offer. He'd jump on it on my behalf in a second so he could stop helping me with my rent," she admitted.

"So it's settled then?" Lestrade asked with a grin. "You'll stay on and get paid when your hours are up. It can be your Christmas present to Mycroft."

"He hates Christmas."

"All the more reason then, it'll annoy him."

Rose threw back her head and laughed. "Alright fine! But probably not full time or Mycroft will get his hopes up that I'll get over the professional dance career idea. We'll worry about hours and money later on. I still owe you some sixty hours I think."

"Forty-six," Lestrade corrected. "And there's plenty of time to work out the finer details of employment later on."

* * *

Four hours later, Rose nearly jumped out of her chair when her mobile rang. It never rang, because no one ever called her. Everyone knew she hated talking on her mobile. She looked down at it and didn't recognize the number, but she answered it anyway. "Hello?"

"Rose? Is this Rose Holmes?" a male voice asked.

"It is. Who is this?" Rose tried to fight the feelings of panic that were settling in.

"It's Owen North. Sergeant Owen North."

"Sergeant O-. Oh! From the military ball, I remember now," Rose admitted with a smile. "That seems like such a long time ago. How are you?"

"I'm quite well, thank you. I've been out of town for a while and just got back. I heard… I heard what happened and wanted to check that you were alright," Owen admitted.

Rose took a deep breath. "As alright as I'll ever be I think. That was sweet of you to call."

"I had another reason, too. I was wondering if you might… Well… Er. If you'd consider having a drink with me sometime. Any drink at all anywhere you'd like."

She smiled. "You sound so horribly nervous Owen and you shouldn't," she said quietly. "I think I'd like that. Can it be someplace close to home? My home I mean."

"Yes! Yes, anywhere is just fine. When are you free?"

"Well, I've got to think on that. Not putting you off, but I've just gotten back to work and have loads to do. How about Friday evening? There's a little café by my house, on Baker Street. Should we say six?"

"Sounds just fine." Owen paused to write down the name when she gave it to him.

"It's not a fancy place," Rose warned him.

"I understand if you want to stay close to home," Owen assured her. "After… after everything. I don't take it as an insult. It just means I need to earn your trust."

"When you put it like that it sounds awful," Rose admitted quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's perfectly alright. I'll see you Friday."

"See you Friday at six. I should go, my boss is glaring at me," Rose said with a little laugh. They said their goodbyes and she hung up her mobile.

Lestrade was not, in fact, glaring at her but he was watching her with a confused look on his face. When he saw her looking over at him, he waved his hand, summoning her into his office.

Rose dutifully got up and entered his office. "I think I'm an idiot," she announced, taking a seat in one of the chairs.

"I wouldn't say that. What makes you think so?" he asked, frowning.

"I just agreed to meet a man I met at the military ball for coffee on Friday. Considering my recent track record, I think I'm an idiot."

"You didn't date him," Lestrade pointed out, meaning Mark.

"But I would have had he asked me," Rose admitted. "And I don't know why I'm even telling you this. Sorry, you're just sort of here." She shrugged a bit, looking embarrassed. "I can't just hide away forever. I've got to live my life, right? Just nod at me, even if I'm wrong, so I'll feel better. And again, sorry I'm doing this. Completely embarrassed right now." Her face went red and she shifted a bit in her seat.

Lestrade merely chuckled and shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Want me to run his name?"

"Would you? Really? If I ask Mycroft there's a good chance the poor fellow would be abducted off the street never to be seen again," Rose said in all seriousness.

"Write it down and I'll let you know before you leave," Lestrade promised. "Now back to work with you." He sent her on her way with a smile and immediately began running the name through all the usual databases.

* * *

"He's clean as a whistle," Lestrade told her before she headed out for the day.

"That's a relief," Rose admitted, buttoning her coat up. "Don't say anything to anyone, will you? Seriously, my brothers will be a nightmare if they find out."

"I won't say a word. Do you need a lift somewhere?"

"To the studio if it won't be a bother. I can always ask Mycroft to send a car."

Lestrade shook his head and asked one of the officers to take her. "See you tomorrow then. Want to meet at the coffee shop again?"

Rose gave him a smile. "I think I'll try to be brave on my own tomorrow. But I'll let you know if that changes." With a little wave, she headed towards the lift and was soon on her way to the studio.

* * *

"John's mad at you, you know," Rose said by way of greeting Alfred. "I'd steer clear for a bit, he'll give you a lecture the next time he sees you. Thinks you're a bad influence."

"Oh, that's rich," Alfred laughed good-naturedly. "Maybe you're the bad influence on me!"

"That's the more likely answer, to be honest," Rose laughed. "And I could have said no, but I didn't." She sat on a chair and put on her heels. "Two weeks, Alfred. Two weeks from tonight, we compete. Are we going to be ready?"

"I think so. We're good! We're well matched, you and I, the choreography is tight, timing and musicality spot on. I'm sure about us. Are you?"

"I hope my stamina is up for it is all. For all my whining about resting, I know John was- is- right. I have to be careful. But, if my stamina can take it and I haven't gotten too rusty since we last practiced, I think we're golden," Rose told him.

She got up from the chair and approached him, smiling brightly. "Feels good to be back in here. Now, proper frame! Let's be impressive!"

* * *

At precisely eleven that night, Mycroft Holmes was sitting in his car waiting for Rose to come out of her dance studio. Only a moment or two passed before someone came out but it wasn't Rose.

"Hello Mr. Holmes," Louise greeted him, opening the car door.

"Louise. You can call me Mycroft now, if you'd like," he offered, frowning slightly.

"Thanks. It'd be weird though," she decided. "Anyway, Alfred is going to bring Rose out in a minute."

"Bring her out? As in not on her own power will she be exiting?"

Louise nodded. "Yeah. Rough practice."

Mycroft rolled his eyes and got out of the car, only to see Alfred carrying out a protesting Rose. "Can you really not go anywhere without bringing trouble with you Rose?" he asked, scowling at her.

"Apparently not. I'm fine, I can walk!"

"No, she can't," Alfred said firmly. "Her feet are really hurting her. It's been too long and she worked too hard."

"Don't give him incentive to continue scolding Alfred," Rose begged. "He'll be insufferable."

"Oh for god's sake, just put her in the car," Mycroft said with a sigh before getting back in on the driver's side.

Rose was deposited inside the vehicle and buckled herself in for the trip to Baker Street. "I'm fine. My feet just aren't used to dancing so hard for so long. Two weeks break will do that."

"It must be more than that if your dance partner felt compelled to carry you out of the building, sister dear," Mycroft stated.

She let out an exaggerated sigh. "Hate you, My."

"Please refrain from outbursts of sentiment Rose, it's alarming."

* * *

"No!"

"Yes!"

"No!"

John and Sherlock shared a look at the sound of raised voices downstairs. A moment later, Mycroft entered the flat carrying Rose in his arms.

"He's an idiot, I'm fine."

"Shut up Rose," Mycroft growled, dropping her onto the couch none too gently. He rolled his eyes when that made her laugh and then disappeared from the flat.

"What was that?" John asked, laughing.

"My feet are in rough shape, as I suspected they would be. Alfred wouldn't let me walk out to the car and Mycroft wouldn't let me walk up here," Rose explained. "They _are _painful though."

"Still refusing to wear socks?" Sherlock asked.

"Shut up," she grumbled.

"Let me get my kit and I'll take a look."

As John headed up to his room for the kit, Rose began carefully unlacing her sneakers and easing them off her feet, wincing as she did so.

"Is that blood on your socks? Are your feet bleeding?" John asked, sitting down on the floor by her feet.

"Very good John, your deduction skills are improving," Sherlock quipped.

Rose rolled her eyes. "Yes and yes. I'm not entirely sure how it happened. Probably some blisters popped and rubbed the skin raw. I didn't even notice right away, I was working too hard."

"You're so mean to yourself, love," John replied, shaking his head. "I'll disinfect them and bandage them up until morning. Socks, Rosenwyn Holmes, socks. You have them; you will wear them for the next two days. And if you tell me no, I will show up at the studio and make sure you've got them on. Do you hear me?"

Sherlock chuckled. "First _and _last name Rose. The good doctor means business!"

"He always means business," Rose retorted. "No need to fuss at me so much. I'll wear them tomorrow and the next day. I promise. Despite all evidence to the contrary, I actually do care about my feet and sort of need them, being a dancer and all."

John sat there for several seconds. "Well what do you know? I can't even believe it. Is this really happening Sherlock? Is she actually agreeing to something I say?"

Rose rolled her eyes. "Be quiet, you. I'm not always contrary you know."

"Could have fooled me," Sherlock added.

John ignored his flat mate and gave Rose a grin.

"And before you ask, I drank lots and lots of water and had my snacks," she added.

"That's my good girl," John said, grinning again.

"Sherlock, can you step out for a minute? I need to talk to John," Rose said suddenly.

"What? Why? This is my flat you know."

"Yes, I'm aware of that, but I'm in here already and John's doctoring my feet. I need to ask him something as a doctor," Rose tried to explain.

"Why? What else is wrong with you now?" Sherlock demanded.

"Oh for heaven's sake, I need to talk to him about _woman _issues Sherlock! I didn't think I'd have to spell it out for you!"

Sherlock looked absolutely horrified and practically ran out of the flat, dressing gown billowing behind him as he exited.

"I'm just a GP Rose," John pointed out quietly. "I can refer you to someone at surgery if you'd like."

"No, I didn't really mean what I said, but Sherlock wasn't going to leave and that always makes him run off. I need a favor."

"Oh. What sort of favor?"

"I'm having coffee with someone on Friday at the café. A male someone, that I met at the military ball. I'd really appreciate it if you could keep Sherlock away from here, or at least distract him somewhat, because he's ridiculous when it comes to me and boys," Rose admitted. "He and Mycroft both."

John looked thoughtful for a moment. "I'm proud of you, Rose. Really, I am. I don't know if I'd agree to meet with someone so soon after what you went through. I can't promise to keep Sherlock away, but I'll do my best. Now, more importantly, what do you know about him?"

"Clean as a whistle. I had Lestrade check for me."

"Good. Well, I hope it goes well. You could do with some fun and happiness, I think."

"I'm not unhappy, you know," Rose said quietly.

"Oh, I know. You smile and laugh too much for me to think otherwise. And I know you well enough that I know when you don't mean it," John reassured her. "But it would be nice for you to find someone to date, someone your age that treats you properly."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves. Coffee is just coffee," she told him firmly. "But I really would like to keep my brothers as far out of the loop as is possible. I'd rather not have him frightened away before I decide if I want more than coffee."

John nodded and then called for Sherlock to come back in and watched with amusement as his best friend entered and looked at them both through narrowed eyes.

"She alright?"

"Yes, yes, she's just fine Sherlock. Some things are just delicate and not for a brother's ears," John said seriously. "She's right as rain, other than her feet. But they'll be alright too."

Sherlock scrutinized John for a moment longer before he nodded and sat back down in his chair. "Good. Good to hear. Nothing I should be aware of?"

"I know that's not a serious question Sherlock, so I won't answer it," Rose laughed. "Your concern is very touching."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Insufferable brat."

"Love you too," Rose replied.


	21. Three's a Crowd

Today was the big day of her coffee date with Owen. Rose was, surprisingly enough, excited about it. She'd been back and forth with her feelings on it all week, sometimes feeling terrified, others mildly panicked, and others still determinedly resolute to keep her date."Alright, let's not try too hard. Can't give the wrong impression. Fun, confident, not fast and loose with my virtue," Rose murmured to herself as she surveyed her make-up collection.

She paused and frowned, thinking on what she'd just said. "Alright, must stop reading those historical romances for a while. Could lead to alarming uses of nineteenth century terminology and frighten him. It's good to be smart, but not _too_ smart. Especially when you're a Holmes. I'm really over thinking this, aren't I? And why am I having this conversation aloud with my reflection? I need a pet so this wouldn't seem quite so odd." It was a good thing she lived alone.

While Rose fussed with her make-up, hair and clothes, Sherlock and John were hiding in an alley across the street. "She's going to have our heads if she catches us Sherlock," John pointed out. "Especially mine! I'm supposed to be on her side and prevent you from doing this."

"She can hardly blame you for that," Sherlock countered. "After all, I'm the one that laced your tea with a chemical to make you more pliant for questioning."

_Two Days Prior_

"Tea?" Sherlock offered as John entered the flat.

"You made tea? You never make your own tea," John responded, frowning.

"Of course I do, John. There's just little point in doing it if someone else will do it for me. You weren't here until a moment ago, so I had no choice. Mrs. Hudson didn't answer when I called for her."

John laughed. "That's because she's not our housekeeper, Sherlock, and you know that."

"Do you or do you not want tea?"

"I do, thanks." John accepted the cup of tea and sat down in his chair, ready to relax after a long day of runny nosed children and their cranky mums.

Sherlock returned to his work but glanced over at John on occasion to assess how much tea he'd drunk. When the cup was finally drained, he left his microscope and went to sit in his chair, examining his flat mate with his eyes.

"John."

The man in question looked half asleep but managed to open his eyes and try to focus on Sherlock. "Feel weird."

"You're fine, I'm a graduate chemist," Sherlock reassured him. "What's going on with my sister? There's something going on, I know it, and I know that you know what it is."

"Nothing. Don't know nothing," John slurred, closing his eyes.

Sherlock clapped his hands loudly, causing the other man to jump. "Concentrate John! What is going on with Rose?"

"Can't tell you. Distract you," he murmured.

Sherlock grinned like a Cheshire cat. "Now we're getting somewhere. When were you supposed to distract me?"

"Friday."

"From what?"

His only response was a snore. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock got up and gave John a bit of a shake. "I'll let you sleep it off if you tell me. What are you supposed to be distracting me from?"

John tried halfheartedly to push Sherlock away, but Sherlock wouldn't budge. "Coffee date. Having coffee."

Sherlock frowned. "That's hardly something I need to be distracted from. She drinks coffee constantly and has many friends she drinks it with. Louise for example. Details John! I need details! And quickly, you're going to pass out within the next sixty seconds. Who is she having coffee with?"

John's eyes began rolling back in his head as he murmured, "Army man."

Sherlock immediately released his grip on John, letting him pass out and begin snoring in his chair.

_Present _

"This is wrong Sherlock. You know it's wrong," John scolded. "We shouldn't be here doing this. It doesn't indicate trust in Rose if we do this."

"It's not about trusting her. It's about the boy, obviously John," he replied, sounding impatient. "And I won't stop you if you want to leave. Suit yourself, leave, and go back into the flat or to the pub."

John scowled darkly. "You know I can't do that. I have to stay here and keep you from not only making a complete idiot out of yourself, but ruining your sister's first step at getting back to normal."

"Then stop complaining and pay attention."

* * *

"Alright, casual. I told him casual. Not likely to show up in a uniform. So that means I need to be casual too. This is casual, but not _too _casual. Really need to stop talking out loud to myself," Rose huffed.

She took a good look at herself in the mirror and was pleased with what she saw. Hair-up in a messy bun, not too messy, just the right sort of messy. Check. Light make-up, soft pink lip, freckles covered. Check. Best pair of jeans, her pretty red jumper that looked so nice with her dark hair, check and check. Last but not least, a pair of shoes with just a little bit of a heel, but still understated. Never hurt to feel a bit taller!

Rose grabbed her purse, locked the door of her flat behind her, and headed downstairs.

* * *

"Hmm," Sherlock mused as he watched his sister exit the building. She entered the café and selected a table more towards the back, which made him scowl because it would be much harder to see her over there. Too much traffic in that part of Speedy's.

"What's "hmm"?" John asked.

"Make-up, she rarely wears it, trying to impress but its light, so she wants to appear natural and get rid of those freckles."

John frowned. He liked her freckles! Just a little dash right across her nose and cheek bones. He'd always found them endearing and had never understood why so many women hated their freckles.

"Red emphasizes her dark hair and makes her eyes appear brighter, so she clearly wants to dress attractively without being obvious about it," Sherlock continued, unaware of John's thoughts. "Slight heel on her shoe; being a little taller, even just a bit, gives her more confidence. Despite her hair being that messy sort of up-do, and appearing to be a very effortless, it's been carefully arranged and secretly pinned into place under her curls so it doesn't come undone. In short, dressed to impress but styled in a way that makes that fact less obvious."

John was silent for a moment until Sherlock glanced over his shoulder at him. "I'm trying to decide if you really deduced that just now, or if you know your sister well enough to know all that already."

Sherlock rolled his eyes and looked over at the café again. "I wish she'd sat elsewhere. I won't be able to make out what they're saying from here."

"You're not going in there Sherlock. Don't even think about," John said firmly. "You can't ruin this for her and you know that's exactly what you'll do."

"I will do no such thing," Sherlock retorted. "Other than in the course of my brotherly duties, naturally."

John rubbed his forehead, feeling a headache coming on already. This was going to go terribly wrong and he knew it.

"Ah, I do believe our mystery fellow has arrived," Sherlock commented.

Unable to quell his curiosity, John moved closer to his flat mate to get a better look at the young man in question. He was tall, a good bit taller than Rose, with dark features, and walked with that military bearing John knew so well. He frowned, though he couldn't put his finger on why. Something felt off; really off in fact. After all, he couldn't possibly be jealous. That would be completely ridiculous! No, most definitely not that. It had to be something else, John was certain of it.

"His right leg is just over one inch shorter than his left," Sherlock stated.

"What? How can you possibly know that?"

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "You see, but you do not observe John. Look at his shoes."

"They're expensive."

This time he let out a sigh of frustration. "They're expensive because they're specially made. The right sole is thicker than the other, not by a huge margin, but definitely noticeable if you're paying attention. There's a lift in the shoe as well to even him out."

They watched as the young man entered the café and looked for Rose. Spotting her, he headed for the table. Rose stood up and they greeted one another warmly, shaking hands, then took their seats.

"He didn't even pull her chair out for her," John said, frowning.

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm not entirely sure Rose cares about those things. It's generational, they know better than to expect young men to be gentlemen anymore."

"It's disgraceful just the same," John decided. "And it doesn't make me feel very confident about the coming generations."

"Be Mycroft for an hour and you will really despair over the continued downward slide of humanity."

* * *

"Owen! So glad you made you it," Rose greeted, getting up from her chair.

"I've been looking forward to it," the young man admitted. He shook Rose's hand when she extended it before taking a seat at the table. "When you said casual you really meant casual."

Rose blushed a bit. "Yeah. I live next door," she admitted. "So it's sort of home turf."

"Oh, I'm not complaining, promise," Owen assured her with a smile. "It's nice to be out and about dressed like a civilian."

"I bet! I'm sure you don't enjoy your uniform as often as women enjoying seeing one," Rose quipped.

"Very true!" Owen laughed. "Although that part has definite perks," he admitted. "So was it the uniform that convinced you to give me your number?"

"Hardly. You weren't the only uniformed man at the ball," she told him with a grin. "But you were charming and an excellent dancer and I really appreciate good dancers. Plus we had some nice discourse as well."

Owen snickered. "Discourse?"

"Yes, discourse," Rose mumbled, blushing.

"I'm teasing! Promise," he hurried to assure her. "Smart girls are sexy."

Now she was really blushing! "I'm glad you think so. I try not to be obnoxious about it," Rose admitted.

* * *

"God I wish I knew what they were saying! She's blushing, look at her," Sherlock directed, thrusting the binoculars at John. He didn't notice that John didn't bother to look. "How long are they going to be in there?"

"They just got their drinks, Sherlock. And does it really matter how long they're in there? As long as she's alright, that's the important part."

"I don't like this. I really don't. Why did she feel as though she needs to keep a coffee date from me?" Sherlock questioned. "I'm not unreasonable."

"Probably because she knew you'd do this," John pointed out. "And if not you, then Mycroft, if not the both of you. Have you always been this way with her?"

"What way? Protective, wanting to make sure she only sees appropriate men? If that's what you mean, then yes, I have always been this way."

John watched as his friend stood up and moved out of the alley. "Wait! Where are you going?"

"In there, obviously John."

"Sherlock, no! Don't do that! She won't thank you for it," John stated firmly. "You know she won't."

"Well, considering she kept the fact that she was being stalked all to herself for well over two weeks, I would prefer to judge her safety myself," Sherlock said in all seriousness. "And if she can't protect herself, I'm more than happy to act on her behalf. I'm not convinced that young man's intentions are honorable."

It took little effort to convince the on duty manager to let him pose as a server. He and John were the café's best customers and when Sherlock mentioned it was for a case, they were more than happy to help. Within a few minutes, Sherlock was dressed in a spare uniform, wearing a borrowed pair of glasses, and a cap on his head.

John found himself at a loss. Should he stop Sherlock? And would his efforts to stop the man actually do any good? Should he try and slip into the café unnoticed and try to keep the chaos at a minimum? In the end, he slipped into the café and took a seat at a table as far from Rose as he could and prayed Sherlock wouldn't do anything stupid.

* * *

"I can't believe you like musicals! I've never known any guy who likes musicals. So really, the most pertinent question then is this- Fred Astaire or Gene Kelly?"

Owen grinned. "Fred Astaire. Not that I don't appreciate Gene Kelly's talents by any means, but he's a much more… athletic dancer, if that makes sense. Couldn't pull of the top hat and tails, which Astaire does to perfection."

Rose beamed as if he had handed her the moon. "That is precisely how I feel! Two completely different styles but I'm-"

"Refill? Ready to order something to eat?" A voice interrupted.

Rose turned her head and looked up, shocked to see a familiar face. Her whole body tensed as she surveyed her brother, wearing a server's uniform, cap and glasses in a ridiculous effort to disguise himself. This was low even for Sherlock, who could disguise himself quite effectively when the occasion called for it.

"Actually I could use some more coffee," Rose responded, an eyebrow quirked.

"We could order something to eat, too, if you'd like," Owen offered. When she nodded, he gave his order and watched as Rose gave hers.

"Everything alright? You got really tense just now," he asked when the server departed.

"Yes, I'm just fine," Rose hurried to assure him.

"Is it hard, being out and about? I'm sorry, I shouldn't pry," Owen decided, blushing.

"No, it's alright. It's sort of the elephant in the room, isn't it? I've been a bit jumpy all week, to be honest. That probably won't go away any time soon, but I'm trying really hard not to let my fears keep me from living," she confided.

Owen looked thoughtful as he considered her words. "You're very open, aren't you? Honest I mean. I really like that."

"I've never seen any reason to be otherwise. It serves no purpose to hide away who you are," Rose explained. "I like who I am."

He smiled in return and reached for her hand. "I'm enjoying getting to know you. I hope if things keep going well, we can do this again."

Rose jumped a bit when he touched her hand, but relaxed and allowed him to hold it. She smiled when he squeezed it gently. "I feel very comfortable with you, and that's step one, so I think there's a definite chance of another little date." The smile he gave her made her heart flutter.

"Let's take it one step at a time, then," Owen decided.

At just that moment Sherlock stepped up to the table and saw them holding hands. They'd only been there for twenty minutes! Much too fast for his taste. The coffee he had been about to pour into Owen's cup went all over Owen instead. And not just one cup's worth, the entire pot.

Owen cried out in shock and pain as the hot liquid was poured all over his chest and lap.

"Sherlock!" Rose shouted. She had no doubts whatsoever that that had been completely intentional. She pushed her brother away and got up, moving to Owen's side. "Oh my god, are you ok? I'm so, so sorry." She tried desperately to clean him up a bit with the napkins, but Owen moved away.

"That was deliberate!" he shouted at the server. "What is wrong with you? I've been burnt!"

"You're a bit fast for my sister, young man. Keep your hands off her and you won't be hurt. She's a _lady _and she'll stay that way, thank you," Sherlock growled.

"Sister? He's your brother?" Owen shouted.

"Unfortunately, yes," Rose admitted. "My idiot brother who I am unlikely to speak to ever again. I'm so sorry Owen. Let's get a taxi and take you in to surgery and get checked out." She looked over towards the door and that's when she spotted John who was hurrying over towards him.

"No, no! I don't want anything to do with anyone who has a psycho for a brother! I'd like to live to see a few more years of my life, thanks." Owen grabbed his jacket and stormed out of Speedy's to hail a cab.

Rose turned her attention to her brother. "Are you proud of yourself? How could you do that Sherlock? He hadn't done anything wrong and you likely burnt him badly for absolutely no good reason."

"It's my job to protect you," Sherlock stated firmly. "He was too fast."

"It was just my hand and I could have pulled it away! Sherlock, my god, you are so impossible! And I am so angry with you, I can't even find the words! This is Bobby Sanders all over again."

_Eight Years Prior_

For a twelve year old attending high school, it was incredibly flattering that one of the school's best athletes wanted anything to do with her, Rose thought. She didn't think much beyond the fact that she felt very special and grown up and never for a minute considered how her brothers would feel about the matter.

Bobby walked her to class, carried her backpack, made sure she wasn't picked on by anyone. It was nice and it made school nice, which was often a rare occurrence in recent years. Then it all came crashing down one day.

"I'm going to miss you over winter break," she told Bobby, looking up at him adoringly.

Bobby grinned. "I'll miss you too. Think I might be able to come over?"

"Possibly. I'll have to make sure no one else is home first," Rose admitted.

"Call me, alright?"

She nodded and her heart began to beat wildly as Bobby's face moved closer to hers. Oh my god, Rose thought, he's going to kiss me! She didn't even know how to kiss anyone! He took her chin in his hand, leaned down and she closed her eyes, waiting for the kiss.

Instead Rose heard an unmanly shriek and the whooshing of air. Opening her eyes, she watched Sherlock tackle Bobby onto the pavement before punching his face. She could practically hear his nose break on contact.

"Sherlock, oh my god! Sherlock, get off him!" Rose shrieked, trying to pull her brother off of her poor beleaguered beau.

"You don't touch her! You don't _ever _touch her! Your intentions are not honorable!" Sherlock shouted at the young man. "Stay away from her, or I'll break every bone in your body!"

A few more good swings connected with the boy's gut before Sherlock got off him and was greeted with his own punch to the face from Rose.

"What the hell was that?" she demanded.

Sherlock didn't bother to answer her. He merely seized her wrist and began pulling her away from the scene.

"He was fine! I was fine with it! We weren't doing anything wrong!" she protested.

"You're twelve."

"Obviously, but what is your point? That was completely ridiculous!"

"You are not allowed to date or interact with boys. You're only twelve," Sherlock said sternly.

"We haven't even gone on an actual date! And I know how old I am you git!" Rose shouted.

"Excellent. Don't plan on dating before you're 30, let alone allowing anyone to kiss you before then."

Rose's mouth dropped open as he shoved her into a taxi. "You cannot be serious. Sherlock, that's completely unreasonable. Even Mycroft isn't that bad!"

"No, he wouldn't have tackled him," Sherlock admitted. "He would have abducted that fast young man and then broken bones, rather than make it a public spectacle. I wouldn't count on support from him."

"I'm being raised by lunatics. Absolute lunatics. Do you not know how hard school is for me Sherlock? People don't like me! Bobby kept people from picking on me and he _liked _me! You're ruining my life!" Rose gave into her tears and turned away from Sherlock as the cab took them home.

_Present_

"And don't think I'm any happier with you, John Watson. Don't think I didn't see you come in here. I was just hoping you were keeping a very discreet eye on things. It never occurred to me that you were in on this charade of my brother's," Rose told the doctor.

"I can explain, I-"

She cut him off. "I'm sure you have a perfectly logical explanation for all of it but I don't care to hear it. Not now, probably not ever." Rose whirled around to look her brother. "And you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, I am _never _speaking to you again!"

Grabbing her things from the chair, Rose ran out of the café and back to her flat.

"Hey, that bill needs to be settled," an actual server spoke up. Sherlock dropped some pounds on the counter and exited, intending to go after Rose.

Rose, however, had anticipated such a thing, and locked her door behind her. That did little to stop Sherlock, who merely ducked into his flat, retrieved the key, and let himself in.

"Get out of my flat Sherlock! Now!" Rose demanded.

The tears he saw trailing down her cheeks gave Sherlock pause.

"Out right now! I swear to god, you best leave right now or I'm not responsible for what I do to you!"

"Rose, I-" Sherlock's words were cut off by a resounding slap across his face. He stood there in shock for a moment before rubbing his now reddened cheek.

"Get out," Rose reiterated. "Or I'm going home."

He frowned. "You _are _home."

"Home home. Get out Sherlock!" She pointed at the door as if he might be confused about where the exit was located.

"There was no reason to slap me Rosenwyn!" He paused and took a deep breath. "You're menstruating right now. You're always irrational and overly sensitive when you're menstruating. That's the only logical reason why you're so upset and slapped me."

Rose's mouth dropped open. "You've _deduced _when I menstruate? Oh my god, Sherlock! That's… that's really disturbing! There are just some things you shouldn't deduce about your sister and that is most _definitely _one of them. Do you seriously not understand why I'm so angry with you?"

"I think we should talk about this, without any further slapping," he said firmly, using his 'I'm your big brother and you better listen to me' tone. That usually got Rose's attention, but instead she turned and went into her bedroom without a word. He heard the click of the lock on the door.

Swiping angrily at her wet cheeks, Rose retrieved an overnight bag from her closet and began throwing clothing inside it. Pajamas, unmentionables, socks, another pair of pants and several tops disappeared inside the bag. She unlocked the door and opened it, allowing it to slam against the wall. Sherlock was still standing there in her sitting room and Rose breezed past him, slamming the door behind her as she left.

"Wait, wait, where are you going?" John asked, meeting her on the stairs.

"Home. Home home," Rose said. "Otherwise I'm going to kill my brother. I'm less angry at you than I am at him, but I'm disappointed in you John. _Very _disappointed. Now please move aside."

John stepped to the side, allowing her to continue down the stairs and exit the building. The raw hurt on her face hit him like a punch in the gut. He proceeded up the stairs to find Sherlock still in Rose's flat.

"She _hit _me," Sherlock said with a whine.

"I told you to leave it be," John commented quietly. "She's really hurt Sherlock."

"She hit me John. Which part of that confused you?" Sherlock retorted, still rubbing his cheek.

"I don't care Sherlock! This is exactly what she'd wanted to avoid, what she had enlisted my help to avoid. Instead, you drugged me and I told you everything and we made a mess out of her date. We _hurt _her Sherlock. I care a lot more about that than I do the fact she smacked your face."

* * *

It wasn't until the taxi dropped her at home that she realized she didn't know the code to get inside. Each time she'd been here since coming back to Britain Mycroft had been at home to let her in.

Rose sighed heavily and trudged up to the front steps to examine the alarm keypad. "Might as well try the old one, see if it still works," she muttered. Carefully she punched in 1-2-2-0 and entered the code. Much to her surprise, the code was accepted and the alarm was disabled. Rose smiled and shook her head; Mycroft could be quite sentimental when he wanted to be, using her birth date as the code.

She put her key in the lock opened the door. Stepping inside, Rose closed and locked the door before setting the alarm again. The house was quiet and dark, meaning Mycroft wasn't home, which wasn't very important. Rose knew he wouldn't object to having her stay a night or two.

After dropping her bag off in her old bedroom, Rose headed downstairs to the library and pulled out her mobile to text Mycroft.

'I'm at your house.'

'Why? M'

'Sherlock and I had a row.'

'He'll probably call and whine because I smacked him.'

'You smacked your elder brother? M'

'I did. It's a long story.'

'And undoubtedly a very interesting one. M'

'How late will you be?'

'I'll be home in a few hours. M'

'Ok. I'll explain it all then.'


	22. Mycroft Knows Best (Sometimes)

'Our sister hit me. SH'

'So I've heard. Knowing you, it was well deserved. M'

'Did she come home? SH'

'She's there and I will be joining her shortly. M'

'She's quite put out with me. SH'

'I don't think she's ever been this angry with me. I don't like it. SH'

'I'll see what I can do to sort it out. In the meantime, try practicing an apology. M'

'I like it so much better when you're the mean brother. SH'

Rolling his eyes, Mycroft decided not to respond.

* * *

Mycroft got home just after nine and was greeted by the smell of something absolutely delicious coming from the kitchen. It was unlike his cook to be making anything this time of night. Usually he wound up with leftovers of what had been made earlier. That was what he got for being a workaholic, he supposed. Not that he had all that much choice in the matter.

But it was not Cook in the kitchen, much to his surprise. It was Rose, who'd already set the table and appeared to be putting the final touches on their meal. "Sherlock wasn't exaggerating," he murmured. "That's a first."

Rose gave him a smile. "I gave Cook the night off. Hope that's alright. I figured as long as you were fed it wasn't a big deal."

"Where did you learn to cook? You were hardly able to make tea not all that long ago."

She frowned this time. "That's a bit of an exaggeration, My. I learned while I was away. Started as a server and moved into the kitchen when they needed extra hands and then was cooking regularly. I found I really enjoyed it. It's sort of relaxing and there's a good reward at the end."

Mycroft chuckled. "And where was this at?"

"Luxembourg mostly. I stayed there the longest, I didn't think anyone would bother looking for me there," Rose admitted. "But I worked in a restaurant in Geneva as well. I was there for a few months. Switzerland's a lovely place."

"It is," Mycroft agreed. "And I was there once, while you were away. You have no idea how happy I would have been to find you in a kitchen then."

"And taken me straight home before I was ready to come back on my own," Rose said. "We needed space, you and I. A lot of it, and the break was helpful in… reexamining things, shall we say. I came to discover a lot of things about myself and my family and what I wanted in life."

"What made you come back then?" He hadn't asked her before, and in fact hadn't asked her much at all about her time adventuring, mostly because Mycroft was afraid to hear her confirm that he had been the one to drive her away.

"I was lonely. I got lonely every so often," she admitted, placing dishes on the table. "But when I started getting lonely on a regular basis and it wouldn't go away, I knew it was time. For all my complaining, and the disappearing act, I never stopped loving you both. I hope you know that."

Mycroft nodded, confirming he did. "I'm certain I aged ten years while you were away. I looked everywhere for you, desperately. I felt so… frightened and guilty. I knew I was the one that had driven you away. Mother would have been so disappointed, that our family had come apart like that. She was always very family oriented and sentimental about all of us loving one another properly."

Rose sat in a chair and indicated he should do the same. She was surprised to hear him speak of their mother, because he so very rarely did. Of all of them, Rose knew their mother's death had hit Mycroft hardest of all, leaving him with an erratic brother to keep track of and a little girl to finish bringing up all on his own. Keeping those feelings compartmentalized had been his way of dealing with her passing; and life in general for that matter.

"Can I ask you something?"

He nodded, and sat down, gesturing that she should dish her plate up first.

"Would she be proud of me, do you think? I'd like to think she would be, but I honestly don't know. Every year that goes by… more of her fades. I can't remember what her voice sounded like anymore, or the way her favorite perfume smelled."

Rose watched as something flickered across Mycroft's face, too quickly for her to get a handle on what it was. He took a deep breath before answering.

"I very much believe she would be. You're so very like her, you know. I see it so often in many little things you do," Mycroft admitted. "I believe she would be very proud of you. You're a good person and that's what she wanted for us most of all, to be good people, and to love one another. And on that score, I know you far surpass Sherlock and myself."

"You're not as icy as you make yourself out to be. Anyone who really knows you can see that. I've never _not _felt loved, even before I went away. I felt smothered in addition to being loved, but I've always felt loved and safe, My. I think that would make Mum very happy to know," Rose said quietly.

He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "You sound so grown up when you say things like that. Please stop, it makes me feel incredibly old."

Rose giggled. "Sort of inevitable, My. Sorry."

"So what happened today with Sherlock? It must have been something significant for you to come back here."

"Well where else would I go?" Rose laughed.

"Louise's, for one."

She rolled her eyes. "He's _our _brother. I need you to help me sort him out. It was really bad, honestly. Bobby Sanders all over again, except the fist was substituted with a pot of hot coffee. It was one date, not even a really official one, just a get to know you thing. He held my hand and then Sherlock went off the deep end. Then I lost my temper, we fought, I slapped his face, he made inappropriate comments, and I left."

It pleased Mycroft to no end that she came home after having it out with Sherlock, but he did his best not to seem too excited by that fact. "He's always been terribly protective of you," he admitted. "Rather unreasonably so at times. Though not at first. Sherlock had the most horrible habit of letting you out when you were a toddler, assuming that just because you were smart that you knew everything and didn't need to be watched."

Rose frowned. "Let me out? Like you let a dog out?"

Mycroft nodded. "I'd ask where you were and he'd say, "Oh, I let her outside to play." And you were just two. He was rather slow in coming to understand that was a very poor choice, though Mother did try to make it clear to him. I'd finally had it after the third time and drug him into my study for a hiding. Never happened again after that."

She laughed long and hard. "Poor Sherlock! Although not really, everyone should know you don't put a baby outside, no matter how smart they are!"

"He was convinced from the moment that you were born that you were the most brilliant child the world had ever seen. He came running into my study one day telling me you knew how to read; you were six months old. Mother found it absolutely endearing, although not the putting you outside part."

"I know he's worried about me," Rose admitted. "Especially after all the recent happenings, but he has to understand that he can't just put up a wall around me and keep every man on the planet from coming near me. Someday I'd like to meet a really nice fellow, get married and have babies."

Mycroft choked on the pasta he'd been attempting to chew, resorting to water to force it down, looking as if he might become ill. "Do _not _say things like that."

"Like what?"

"You… and babies. Please don't ever say that to me again," Mycroft pleaded in earnest.

"You're ridiculous, but I'll try to refrain from traumatizing you. You'd make a very good uncle though," Rose offered. When he gave her a dark look in response, she put up her hands in surrender. "Okay, I won't say a word on the matter for a while. Though, since we're on the topic, why don't you have someone? A wife and little ones."

"You honestly think I wanted children after raising you and Sherlock? God no!"

"Well you don't have to be so emphatic about it," Rose scowled. "That's rather insulting. I'd like to think I wasn't _that _bad."

"Sherlock was much worse," he admitted. "And significantly less sweet than you."

"My, how are we going to fix this?" she asked, turning the conversation back to the matter at hand. "I don't know how to fix it. I don't want Sherlock to injure or maim every person of the male sex that I come into contact with. That's never going to work. At least you sort of discretely keep an eye on things."

"No matter how old you are Rose, you will never understand the way a brother feels about his little sister. Sherlock, despite his idiocy, has your best interests at heart. The last thing he wants is for your heart to be broken by someone. This is his way of preventing it," Mycroft tried to explain.

"I'll speak with him about it, see if we can't come to some sort of agreement of appropriate ways to protect you," he offered. "I truly don't think he desires you to be a spinster, but I don't think he sees that correlation between him frightening away boys and you being completely alone in your old age."

Rose nodded, acknowledging that Mycroft's thoughts made sense. "Being married to my work isn't something I want to do. It might work just fine for you and Sherlock, but it wouldn't work for me. I want to be a professional dancer for as long as I'm able, don't get me wrong on that score," she hurriedly added. "However, there's more to life than work for me. I want all the rest of it, too and I'm determined to have it both ways."

"God help anyone that stands in your way when you're determined," Mycroft teased.

She rolled her eyes but otherwise didn't respond. "Don't forget to tell Sherlock when you speak with him that if _I'm _not allowed to have tantrums, neither is he! Because that was one seriously epic stroppy tantrum."

"And you'd know, wouldn't you?" The look on her face gave Mycroft a good laugh.

* * *

'Well done Sherlock. You'll turn her into a spinster yet. M'

'That is not my intention. SH'

'Isn't it? I beg to differ. M'

'Besides, I'm the one that overreacts, as you so often remind me. M'

Several minutes passed without a response and Mycroft rolled his eyes before sending another text. 'My club, noon tomorrow. M'

'Fine. SH'

Mycroft looked up when there was a knock on the door of his study. "Come in."

Rose opened the door far enough to peek inside the room. "Is it alright if I read in here? I won't disturb you if you're working, I promise. And we could have some after dinner wine or something. Your cellar is rather impressive. I was going to pop a bottle open earlier but I really don't know anything about wine to be honest."

Mycroft frowned; for some reason the idea of his baby sister drinking liquor was upsetting. "Should I go take inventory?"

"No," she told him, rolling her eyes. "Or no wine, or whatever response will make you stop frowning."

He waved her into the room. "You can read in here if you wish, though I may have to send you out if I need to make a call. How long are you staying, by the way?"

"Until you become completely obnoxious and Sherlock is the lesser of two evils," she replied, giving him a grin. Rose left the door open and crossed the room to curl up on the couch.

"Or in other words I shouldn't take this as a sign you'd like to move back home?" Mycroft inquired.

"Brother dear, you are absolutely relentless. Will you never stop trying to talk me into moving back here?"

He shook his head. "No. I don't worry as much about you if you're here when I can see you."

Rose snorted. "That's a rather absurd statement My. You are the government; you can actually see me just about anywhere at all on CCTV whenever you feel like it. I also wouldn't be surprised if there are cameras in my bloody flat."

"Language," Mycroft scolded.

"Hmm. No comment on the camera accusation. Clearly I'll need to search my flat when I decide to wander back to Baker Street," Rose mused.

"Minding you is a full time occupation, my dear. I've said that since the very day you were born," Mycroft replied. "What I really need to do is hire someone to watch you on CCTV every minute of the day."

"That's not funny," Rose said firmly, scowling at him. "Not funny at all. I'd like to still pretend I have a little bit of privacy."

"Everyone wants to pretend they still have a little bit of privacy," he countered. "And that's just what it is: pretend."

Rose stuck her tongue out at him and flopped back onto the sofa before opening her book.

"You're never going to outgrow that, are you?"

"Not until you cease to be utterly annoying in every possible way, brother mine."

Mycroft frowned a bit. "What did you select to read?"

"One of my favorites, Jules Verne," Rose replied as she opened the book.

"That better not be my first edition of _Around the World in 80 Days_ or I will skin you alive, Rosenwyn Holmes," Mycroft warned in all sincerity.

"Books in the glass case are not to be touched or played with at any time for any reason whatsoever," she said, doing her best to mimic him. "That was a particularly memorable lesson Mycroft, I must say, all teasing aside."

"Hmph. Well I would certainly hope so! After all, that was rather the point."

"It was really all your fault though. You should have been smarter and kept it locked," she challenged.

"As if Sherlock wouldn't have picked it for you anyway," he retorted. "Now be quiet and let me work, you disrespectful little brat."

"Mmhm, love you too, brother dear," Rose responded. When he groaned, she gave him a look of feigned innocence before burying her nose in the book.

* * *

Oh how Sherlock hated it when Mycroft looked so smug! And today he looked especially smug when Sherlock was shown into Mycroft's office at the Diogenes Club.

"Let's make this short, shall we?" Mycroft asked, indicating that Sherlock should sit down.

"If you've summoned me here to gloat because I'm now the mean brother, I'd prefer to just leave," Sherlock stated in a defensive tone.

"I am only going to say this once, brother mine, so do listen closely and carefully," Mycroft warned. "Learn from my mistakes, Sherlock. Yes, I did just admit that and I'll never do so again. Your behavior yesterday is reminiscent of my own, though admittedly I never scalded anyone. But I tried too hard to protect her, and to control her, because I felt she was incapable of making appropriate choices for herself. I drove her away, Sherlock. I know I did, and I understand that now. If you ask her, she'll confirm it, albeit reluctantly. For some reason she feels compelled to not put it so bluntly and spare my feelings, but she has expressed as much."

Sherlock was, to put it mildly, shocked at Mycroft's words. He could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard Mycroft admit he'd made a mistake. Additionally, he'd never heard his oldest brother acknowledge that he was responsible for creating the circumstances that made Rose want to disappear.

"As you so love to point out," Mycroft continued. "She's not like us. We're… well if not content, we're at least resigned to the fact that we're married to our work. Rose really is, by far, the most normal of the three of us. She wants normal things: a home, a family, a life with all sorts of emotional entanglements and curly haired children to bring up."

"That… I can't begin to think on that. The baby having babies." Sherlock shuddered a bit.

"Trust me, I understand the horror of that thought very well," Mycroft commiserated. "For you and I, she's still the little girl who was afraid of monsters under the bed, wanted to be rocked when her ear ached, and begged for just one more story every night."

Sherlock nodded. "In this respect, with her, we're very normal Mycroft. We'll never stop seeing her that way. But, she isn't anymore."

"She isn't," Mycroft agreed. "She still requires guidance and a firm hand when the occasion calls for it, but we will only make her unhappy if we try to keep her that little girl, or, in your case, try to make her a spinster."

"God how I hate it when you're right. Ruins my entire day," Sherlock grumbled, looking particularly sulky. "I will always intervene if she's in danger. However, I will endeavor to restrain myself from shielding her from the world."

Mycroft paused, his glass of brandy halfway to his mouth. "Did we really just agree on something?" he asked. "That never happens."

"Shakes one's world, I know," Sherlock agreed. "Mother would be proud."

"Do you know what Mother would really say?"

A quirked eyebrow was Sherlock's only response.

"She'd ask us if we were looking for Rose to convert to Catholicism and enter a nunnery. And if the answer was no, we'd best let her get on with life," Mycroft said with a sad smile. "Even if that was our goal, Rose would make a horrible nun. She's far too rebellious and opinionated."

Sherlock frowned for several seconds before laughing. "You know, I think you're right. That's precisely what Mother would have said. She could be really wise sometimes. And I agree, Rose would make a horrible nun," he said with a chuckle.

"God only knows, given how wise she could be, what Mother was thinking asking us to look after Rose before she died," Mycroft countered. "We're rubbish at it."

"She turned out alright. More than alright, in fact, considering she had us for co-parents for most of her life," Sherlock snorted.

The corners of Mycroft's mouth turned up just a bit. "She did," he agreed. "The only question is: was that because of us or in spite of us?"

"Let's not think on that too hard," Sherlock decided.

"Quite right," Mycroft said with a nod. "Well, I'm done with you, so please vacate my club, brother mine."

* * *

Louise was more than a little surprised when John appeared at the dance studio. "You, Dr. Watson, are a very brave man indeed."

"Yeah, bravery is one word for it," he admitted with a grimace. "Stupidity might also apply. Is she really still that angry?"

"At Sherlock, definitely," Louise confirmed. "At you, not as much. I see you've brought a peace offering though, so that should help your cause a bit. She's still working with Alfred but I think they're nearly done. Or they really should be. Rose works herself so hard; too hard."

John could tell Louise was worried and immediately became concerned. "Please tell me she's been eating and drinking properly."

"She has, but they've also been dancing almost non-stop for a bit over seven hours," she explained. "Trying to make up for time lost during her recovery I imagine. Or just Rose being Rose. She's like Mycroft in that way- a perfectionist."

John smiled. "The two of you go way back, don't you?"

"Since we were three. Started here together in classes, ended up at the same schools, though Rose jumped ahead of me a few years, twice I think, but we stayed close," Louise explained. "Been through thick and thin! I still call Mycroft "Mr. Holmes" to his face, because otherwise it's awkward," she laughed.

"That is a really awkward point in life, where you're an adult and suddenly people you were told to call Mr. and Mrs. say "Oh no, it's Sally now!" Takes ages to actually get around to calling a person Sally, or Mycroft in your case," John replied.

"Precisely! Smart man you are. Take good care of her, will you? She listens to you; don't let her work herself half to death. I just get a smile and a hug for my troubles."

"I don't know how well she listens to me to be perfectly honest," John admitted. "But I keep saying it all the same. She's a stubborn thing. Lovely girl, no doubt about that, but she's as stubborn as the day is long. She's more like her brothers than they are willing to admit."

Louise gave him a knowing smile, as if she knew something he didn't, but he didn't press her to find out what that might be.

Just then one of the studio doors opened and Rose came around the corner. "Why are you—Ooh, are those cupcakes?!" she squealed. "I want so very much to be displeased with you John, but I can't be if those are actually cupcakes in that box."

Louise snorted. "You and your cupcakes! They'd be your main food group if you could get away with it!"

"Don't think they aren't either, and don't frown at me, John Watson," Rose warned. "You aren't forgiven yet, cupcakes aside. And don't think for even a second I'm sharing those with you, or having another cupcake war. Mine, mine, mine."

"She's mean when you interfere with her cupcakes," Louise warned with a giggle. "Hand one over."

"What makes you think _you _get one?" Rose retorted, holding the box possessively.

Louise snorted. "Gee, I don't know, I've just put up with you for nearly seventeen bloody years. Nothing much."

Rose stuck her tongue out at her, but allowed Louise to have one of the cupcakes. "Alright, so I've got cupcakes, what else do you have? This is an excellent peace offering."

John just smiled patiently, happy to see Rose having fun. "An apology, but I'd like to discuss it elsewhere," he admitted. "You missed out on a dinner last night, but if you let me I'll take you out for one now."

"If she says no, I'll go!" Louise volunteered. "Me, me, me! I never get dinner out!"

"Lies, don't listen to her," Rose instructed. "My dinner, you get your own." She winked at Louise before practically shoving John out the door. "I agree to your plan, provided we go back home so I can shower and change. Meaning home home, not Baker Street."

"How long are you staying with Mycroft?" John asked as he hailed a cab.

"Not too long or My will really think I mean to stay and that would not go well. Seriously, I love my brother so much more when I don't live with him. If he was honest with himself, Mycroft would realize he's happy to let Sherlock be the mean brother," Rose admitted.

* * *

An hour later Rose was showered, dressed, and they were waiting for food at a café near Mycroft's house. "So he drugged you? Seriously?" she asked, eyebrows raised.

"He did. I should have known something funny was going on when he offered me tea," John admitted, feeling a bit embarrassed about the whole thing.

"He's an idiot," Rose decided, rolling her eyes. "He did that with Mycroft a few times and then Mycroft pulled Sherlock into his office- well, dragged him really, and then Sherlock never did that again. You should ask Mycroft what he did and do the same," she suggested.

John chuckled. "We'll sort it out. Probably not the first time, probably not the last either. That's just the adventure of being flat mates with Sherlock Holmes."

Rose's phone chirped and she looked at the text. "Speak of the devil. He's been sending me really weird texts the last few hours."

John took the phone when she offered it to take a look. "I'm sorry and I don't want you to enter a nunnery," he read. "That _is _strange, even for Sherlock."

"I suppose I'll have to actually respond sometime, but I'm still mad," Rose admitted. "He can't do that sort of thing or I'll end up a crazy old cat lady with rooms and rooms full of books and be all alone, just me, the cats and the books."

"You know it's because he loves you right?"

Rose nodded. "I do. So what was your excuse?"

"I was hoping to keep him from doing anything drastic. Failed, obviously, but that was why I was in there. I thought if I was watching and looking very disapproving about the whole thing, that he might be discouraged."

"Well that was silly," she giggled. "Oh well, clearly Owen wasn't the one. Whoever I marry some day, provided Sherlock doesn't ruin every date I ever have, will have to love my insane brother, too. Or love me enough to put up with my insane brother."

Their food arrived and for a few moments there was silence as they ate. Rose finally broke it by asking, "Are you coming to my competition next Monday? A week from this Monday I mean. It'll be practically all day, but I'd love for you to be there. Sherlock said he'll come and Mycroft I'm hoping will come but who knows?"

"Of course! I took that day off from surgery weeks ago," John told her with a smile. "Wouldn't miss it. Are you excited? Nervous?"

"Both. More nervous though," she admitted quietly. "What if we don't do well? Mycroft will never let me hear the end of it. This can either go brilliantly or be a complete disaster."

"Give yourself a bit more credit than that. Even if you don't make first place, that's not the end of the world. Placing at all is a great way to start out your career and you're a bloody fantastic dancer," John said firmly. "You'll place and it won't be down in the lower ends either and everyone will be buzzing about wondering who this new dancing star is."

Rose rewarded his encouraging words with a smile and a blush.

"I really am sorry for everything that happened yesterday," John continued. "I wasn't entirely certain what to do: run in there and break up your date myself by alerting you that your brother was on the war path, wait and see what happened, or try and discreetly disapprove enough that Sherlock stopped to think on it."

"None of them would have been great honestly," Rose admitted. "But I forgive you. I put you in a bad spot and Sherlock put you in another one. Things were bound to go badly; I should have just been honest with him. Anyway, you're more than forgiven. Who can refuse to forgive a man who brings cupcakes to say sorry? Not this girl, I can tell you that." She gave him a grin.

"What are you going to do about Sherlock? That was a nasty row."

She nodded her agreement. "It was. Mycroft is going to try and sort him out, which I hope will work, but I won't get my hopes up. I'm certain I'll be back at Baker Street soon. Miss me yet?"

John chuckled and nodded. "I do, the flat is too quiet without you around and we were really hungry last night. Had to get takeaway and it was _awful_," he teased.

"I see, you miss my food and not me," Rose laughed. "We're crazy, the lot of us, you know that? You, Sherlock and I. Wouldn't trade it for the world though, even if you do just keep me around for my cooking!"

* * *

Rose returned to Mycroft's after finishing her dinner with John around half past nine that evening. She could hear Mycroft in his office shouting at someone. He was shouting in English but as soon as she came in he immediately began shouting in another language. Czech? Slovene? Slovak?

She paused long enough to catch a bit and decided it was Czech before going directly upstairs. People who didn't want to sign agreements weren't her domain after all and Mycroft would hardly thank her for eavesdropping! Besides, Rose had been dying to take a bubble bath in that beautiful claw foot tub! She entered her old room, hoping to find a bathrobe she'd left behind, but when she flipped on the light, she let out a scream.

There was Sherlock, sitting on her bed.

"Sherlock, my god! You scared me, that's not funny!" Rose shouted at him.

"You've been ignoring me." It was said with that distinct sort of half pout half sulk tone that Sherlock had been perfecting for as long as she could remember.

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah, I have been, mostly because I've been confused as _hell _at all these texts. You're sorry and don't want me to be a nun? I don't have a clue what you're on about so I wasn't going to get into it with you. When you started making sense, then I would have responded."

He nodded and- could it be? - almost looked sheepish. "I'm sorry," Sherlock said quietly. "For overreacting and ruining your date. Despite all appearances to the contrary, I don't want you to be alone if that's not what you want for yourself."

Rose wanted to continue being angry with him, but she knew sincerity when she heard it, and a heartfelt apology when she heard one as well. "You're an idiot, you know that?"

Sherlock scowled. "I just want you to be with someone who deserves you, Rose, and not waste your time people that aren't worthy of it to begin with. However, I can't interfere and chase away everyone, and you have _no _idea how difficult that will be for me. Especially after… recently."

Though he'd never spoken of it, the fact that he hadn't deduced Rose was in danger and been able to protect her weighed heavily on his mind. Despite his best efforts, Sherlock had not been able to delete the images of her on the pavement, terrified and covered in blood, while he'd been completely helpless, arriving too late. _Too. Late. _

"Oh Sherlock. Sherlock, _no_. You can't think like that," Rose said firmly. She quickly crossed the room and sat down beside him. "I made that mess all by myself and did my very best to keep it hidden until after you solved those murders. I didn't want you fussing over me and taking your attention from that case. You had nothing to do with my secrecy, or my being attacked, and I prevented you from protecting me. You didn't fail me, I failed me."

"Now I see why it both annoys and astonishes people so much when I do that," he grumbled. "How can you possibly read me that well?"

"No, most definitely not an open book and not easy to read, even for me," Rose admitted. "But I'm me, and if there's anyone in the world you let your guard down with, and let yourself feel, it's me. And thank god for that."

His eyebrow quirked, silently questioning her last statement.

"If you hadn't, you and Mycroft both, I'd be just as dysfunctional as the two of you are; heaven knows this world can't handle any more Holmeses like you and Mycroft," Rose told him.

Sherlock chuckled and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close. "I think we lucked out with you, Mycroft and I. You're a good one," he whispered.

She blushed a bit, but gave him a smile. "Thanks. You're still my very favorite Sherlock in the whole wide world, you know that?"

"And you're my very favorite brat in the whole wide world," he assured her, kissing the top of her head. "Think you'll forgive me someday?"

"Not someday," Rose assured him. "Today. I forgive you today. But we've got to have rules about this whole thing. For starters, I won't keep information about potential dates from you. That way poor John won't get drugged again. That was a bit not good Sherlock!"

He shrugged. "He missed a whole Wednesday once and doesn't even know it."

"Didn't you learn your lesson after you did that to Mycroft a few times? I seem to remember an awful lot of howling coming from his office the last time you did that," Rose pointed out. It delighted her to no end when he blushed.

"So that's a rule too, no more of that," Rose said firmly. "And you will be reasonable. I won't be able to find the right man if you don't let me try out several of them. I'll be safe and honest and allow Mycroft to run their names if that will make you feel better. In return, you'll give me the space I need and let me fall in and out of love however many times it takes."

Sherlock sighed heavily. "That's a terrible plan. How am I supposed to protect you from heartache if you insist on looking for it?"

"You can't. There is something you can do though, that would mean the world to me."

"Which is?"

"Be here to help me pick up the pieces when love goes wrong," she whispered. "That's all you need to do, big brother. Think you can manage that?"

"I'll always be here for that," he promised. "Never doubt that Rose." Sherlock hugged her tightly, smiling when she simply scooted over and moved onto his lap. "Your height has its advantages."

"Does it now?" she asked, looking up at him.

"If you were taller, this would be very awkward," he pointed out.

"This is disgusting," a familiar voice stated, interrupting Rose's laughter. "All this sentimental nonsense just _oozing _out of the both of you. The trials and tribulations of my life are never ending."

"Poor, poor Mycroft," Rose responded, her snicker ruining her attempt to be sympathetic. "We just make your life so awful!"

"You do, don't attempt to convince yourselves otherwise. Nothing but trouble since the day you were born, the both of you."

Sherlock snorted. "It amuses me to no end that he acts as if he were the perfect child and we were these monsters that plagued his life. I happen to remember him getting into plenty of trouble all on his own, so don't let that nonsense fool you for a minute," he told Rose. "Mycroft has always had a flair for the dramatic."

The eldest Holmes rolled his eyes. "Family gatherings are just _so _lovely," he muttered.

"They are, just wait until Christmas! And my birthday just before that," Rose said grinning. "Loads of quality family time, albeit sprinkled with sarcasm and threats."

"Sounds about right," Sherlock nodded.

"Oh no, we are _not_ doing Christmas. Absolutely not. You aren't little anymore; I don't have to keep up this charade any longer. You know I hate Christmas," Mycroft told her with a scowl.

"How unfortunate for you. We're going to have it and if you say no I'll have the most epic strop in the history of the world and make your life a living nightmare," Rose threatened, trying desperately to keep a stern façade as she did so.

Mycroft frowned. "So you'll misbehave like you do every day of every year? Sounds absolutely charming let me clear my calendar and write 'Rose's Christmas Tantrum' on it. The highlight of my year to be sure."

A pillow was promptly thrown at him and all Mycroft could do was shake his head. They never changed, either of his siblings, and though he'd never admit it out loud, he rather hoped they never did.


End file.
